


Push my luck

by withered



Series: Roses (by another name) [16]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Character Bashing, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Cycles/In Rut, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 57,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: Even beneath the blockers, his scent reaches out to her in seeming answer; deceptively sweet in the form of a crisp autumn air and a touch of Christmas morning that grows steadily headier; curling thick, mouth-wateringly good, and – oh.This is definitely a mistake waiting to happen.
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Roses (by another name) [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/843906
Comments: 595
Kudos: 529





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LethanWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LethanWolf/gifts).



> This fic is also dedicated to LethanWolf who wanted ABO Ichiruki and spawned a fic that has entirely too much sex.
> 
> This fic contains Inoue-bashing/anti-ichihime sentiment. If those things aren't to your liking, please turn back now. This story is not for you.

Rukia has had the worst fucking day.

She deserves this. She does. It's a certifiable stress reliever – there've been papers written on it and everything – though granted, Rukia didn't expect to make use of it herself.

Not that she's complaining about it now.

As it is, she doesn't think she can string two words together.

She can only shiver as Ichigo moves against her, rolling firm muscle and heated flesh in an unrelenting wave; dragging the shirt she hadn't had the time to remove, and the jeans still clinging precariously around his hips in a friction that's both too much and not enough. Broad hands slide down her legs, leaving Goosebumps in its wake until he's lifting her ankles and hitching them over his shoulders.

She's still trembling from her first orgasm, but that doesn't stop her from squeaking – half in indignation and half in surprise as he slips out with the new angle.

But her flush darkens as he smirks at her, the expression only temporary before it dissolves in slack-jawed awe as he sheathes himself anew.

Her mouth opens in a silent gasp while he tilts his head back, corded muscle straining as he tries to get a grip, and holds her still despite her writhing.

"Fuck, give me a second," he all but growls, and despite their position, it's Rukia's turn to smirk.

"No," she tells him before her legs are sliding down his arms, hooking on his elbows while she crosses her arms above her head and hooks it over the arm of the couch, using both to lever herself as she rides him out until he's swearing breathlessly, and glaring at her beneath the damp fringe of his hair.

His thumbs leave bruises on her hips, and there's the equivalent of a rug burn on the inside and underneath of her thighs from where his jeans had scrubbed at her skin with every brutal snap of his hips before he'd suddenly pulled out, leaving a mess atop her belly and the hitch of her thigh.

She doesn't know if its an alpha thing or not _to like making such a mess_ considering the birth control he knows she religiously takes, but she's not going to complain.

But Rukia does huff when she considers that he'd done it on purpose.

Payback for their last exchange on the floor of his room, and from the slight smirk lurking at his mouth, she reaches over to flick at his nose where it's pressed against her clavicle.

In retaliation, he reaches up blindly to muss up her hair further that it only jars her for a second how easy this is: lying atop one another, still wearing some of their clothes because they'd been in too much of a rush to remove them all, and annoying each other in the silence that follows after.

It's more intimate than what they'd been doing earlier that she feels wrong-footed, even though it isn't the first time Rukia's felt that way around him. Which, she admits, confuses her greatly.

She's never been the type to pick up guys, let alone be the kind to engage in casual sex.

She's been accused practically her whole life of being too frigid to even merit that kind of attention. Not that she's ungrateful.

As an omega, statistically, she'd be a prime candidate for sexual overturns.

A fact that she absolutely refuses to take lying down, and why she'd joined the chapter for the Organization for Omega Rights as soon as she'd been accepted into Seireitei State.

Before that, however, she'd made sure that her secondary sex was more an unfortunate coincidence than anything else – though she can't do much to change her stereotypical omega stature; she can talk shit to any asshole alpha or beta that thinks they can push her around.

Including but not limited to her bed-mate. Or couch-mate, as it is:

"Why couldn't this wait until we had the bed under us?"

"You were the one who tackled me," he reminds, though it's a blatant _lie_ but being this close together as they are, it's easier to catch the curl of primal satisfaction that lingers just beneath the smell of spent sex under his scent blockers. And even if Rukia is above the stereotypes of her biology, a part of her is still pleased, even as he teases, "Bad date?"

"The worst," she exhales taking a moment to gather her scattered thoughts, then, "Shit. What time is it?"

"Don't know -"

There's a jingle of keys at the door, and with a mutter of "shit", Rukia manages to drag Ichigo off the couch with their things in hand, and stumble into her room just as Tatsuki opens the front door and makes a gagging noise, "God!" Before she's yelling, "Rangiku, you slut, stop having sex in the living room!"

Ichigo muffles a snicker against Rukia's shoulder, just as Inoue says, "I'm so glad my sense of smell isn't as good as yours, Tatsuki-chan, I can't smell a thing!"

"Be grateful," the other girl groans as she stomps around the room to throw open the windows.

As Inoue chatters in the kitchen – because it's Tuesday, and while Tatsuki's leaving soon to go to her karate class, Inoue's in no rush, she's only going to leave again at seven to meet up with her project group – Ichigo murmurs, "What now?"

His voice is still rough from earlier, smooth like crushed velvet and smoky-sweet, all but radiating satisfied alpha.

Rukia ignores the tingle in her spine. "Window?"

"Not a fucking chance," he deadpans, and this close, there's a sharp citrus tang of amusement to his scent.

Rukia snickers and turns away to take off her shirt as she goes digging around her drawer for another.

A shower will have to wait until Inoue leaves.

Ichigo swipes her discarded shirt to clean himself up; smirking at her look even as she grumbles through her blush, "Alphas are so gross." She doesn't know if it's because of the headiness of their combined scents or just the shamelessness Ichigo has to stand in her room, basically half-naked, cleaning their spunk off himself so casually. Either way, Rukia isn't about to let him tease her to find out.

Still, it's so routine now, even though they usually try and avoid almost getting caught by Rukia's housemates – Inoue, in particular – that Rukia doesn't think anything of continuing to strip, nor the fact that Ichigo's discarded his clothes as well, setting it aside on her chair so that he's only in his boxers.

After changing out of her jeans and ruined underwear, Rukia collapses on her bed, the mattress dipping again beneath Ichigo's weight as he prompts, "How bad was it?"

"The date or your performance?"

" _Hah-hah_." She feels the movement of him rather than sees it, and content to luxuriate in the pleasant stretch of her body and the honey warmth that seeps between the cracks of her once tense muscles, they lay in silence for a while, even as the omega in her squirms impatiently for a knot it hasn't had. Rukia's used to ignoring the pressing biological need to be knotted because she's used to it, just as she's used to this too: sharing a bed while they wait for an opening for Ichigo to leave, that her eyes droop, trusting and relaxed.

If not for the poke of his index finger against her cheek, embarrassingly enough, Rukia thinks she would've fallen asleep right there.

Even if it is her bed and her room, she and Ichigo don't do _that._

Beyond her door, Rukia hears her housemates exchange:

Inoue says, nervous and bubbly, "Do you think Kurosaki-kun is working today?"

To which Tatsuki tsks, "Why, are you finally going to be straight up with it and just ask him out?"

"Well," Inoue says, haltingly, " _maybe!"_ And then, "I'm not an alpha like you, Tatsuki-chan, but I could be assertive, I could just go up and ask him out, couldn't I?"

Which in turn, makes Rukia sigh, and leads Ichigo to prod once more, "The date?"

"Ugh." Turning over to lie on her back, matching him with their bare legs atop the covers, she nudges her shoulder against his, making him still almost immediately. "You can't just let me have my afterglow, huh?"

"Figured we were already rudely interrupted that it'll have to wait for next time," he says with a slight smirk and a shrug, and, well. Can't argue with that. "The date?"

"What do you think?" Rukia sighs, annoyed. "My parents are trying to match-make me, for god's sake." The fact that they see it less as creating a suitable union for their only omega-daughter, and more a business transaction like their own lives are, means that Rukia's been lumped _with the actual worse_ _candidates_. "I'm tempted to just agree to mate with Renji," she admits. "There are worse fates than being my brother and his boyfriend's beard."

Even if it is her punk of a best friend who is about as sexually attractive (and attracted) to her as a lamp.

Hence why she'd make an excellent beard: That way Byakuya-niisama and Renji could be together, there would never be an unfortunate "crossed wire of feelings" between her and Renji, and her parents would be none the wiser. Particularly since the only objection her parents could come up with to Byakuya-niisama's mating Renji –even though on paper, it isn't a bad match at all – had been that they were both alphas. Then again, if it isn't the gender thing in their society giving people grief, it's the secondary sex thing. Why people can't just leave each other alone, Rukia has no idea.

"Ano," Inoue interjects, still nervous, "but what if Kurosaki-kun isn't interested?"

"Then he isn't." Like it pains her, though, Tatsuki says, "Once he finds out you are though, there's no way he'd turn you down."

The thought makes Rukia's stomach hurt.

It's Ichigo's turn to interrupt as he points out slowly, "You want to share a mate with your brother." And oh.

Oh god, that's a much more horrifying thought.

The face Rukia makes in response makes him snicker, and when she digs her shoulder into his chest – because she's an actual child who doesn't know how to deal when she's flustered – Ichigo squeezes at her bare hip beneath the large t-shirt she'd purposely bought and purposely worn because –

The tent in his boxers isn't just a hard dick.

Rukia abruptly forgets everything to do with Byakuya-niisama and Renji, and Tatsuki and Inoue.

Ichigo hisses through his teeth as he swells beneath her palm. She flexes her fingers experimentally and he chokes on a breath, gritting out, "This is my punishment, then?"

"Mmm," Rukia hums, lips curling wicked as she continues to stimulate the quickly inflating knot one-handed; his grunts and low growls spurning her on until he's tugging her astride his thighs, her shirt all but ripped off, and her hands full of him.

Making quiet, disappointed noises; clearly unsatisfied, Ichigo tries to urge her closer to press his dick between their bodies. It's only when Rukia releases a hand to squeeze the back of his neck in silent acquittance does he move; tilting them forward so she's lying on her back.

With his legs bracketing hers; he presses his knot between her giving thighs, and fucks himself between the tight space she's made of them.

Against her breast, she feels him groan before Ichigo busies his mouth with a nipple; flicking and teasing with tongue and teeth.

Rukia arches her back with a barely suppressed moan in answer; her breath fluttering when the hand not fisting the sheets nearby creeps up her throat to cradle her jaw and feed two fingers between her lips; an offer she accepts sweetly despite the light nip of her teeth against the intruding digits.

Outside her room, Rukia's brain manages to parse together the usual daydreams Inoue entertains of her imagined date with Ichigo: their love story, their happily ever after; all while Rukia spirals and ascends and crashes for the third time under Ichigo himself.

With his harsh pants teasing along her skin, and the firm, familiar weight of his body on hers with nothing but their sweat and their slick to separate them; it's ironic then that when Rukia thinks: _how did she get here?_

And the answer she gets is: _her parents' matchmaking_ and _Inoue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even gonna lie, most of this fic is sex with a bit of plot *shrug emoji* Updates will be daily, I'm already on chapter seven so hopefully, I can finish the fic within the next two weeks? Fingers crossed.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Now, dear, don’t be so dramatic,” her mother clucks, disapproving because when is she _not?_

Not for the first time, Rukia thinks she shouldn’t have answered her phone. Nothing good ever comes from picking up her mother’s calls, and her father’s, on the rare occasion that he remembers he has children. Nonetheless, that the usual internal scolding also (annoyingly enough) sounds like her mother doesn’t help matters at all.

Rukia had thought moving out of her parents’ house would spare her the grief of their general existence. Evidently not.

She wishes she’d taken Byakuya-niisama’s route of stoically ignoring them, but then again, Byakuya-niisama was an alpha and _could_. Even without the advantage of his secondary sex, Byakuya-niisama was everything their parents wanted – barring his choice thus far in mates, past and future – and had never really needed their approval.

Rukia, on the other hand.

While an omega-daughter was exactly what her parents required from her to complete the image they want to put out about themselves and their family; they were betas, and had no idea what to do with her. In the end, it shouldn’t have surprised Rukia one bit that this was the conclusion they had come up with:

“I’m not getting married.”

“Well, not yet.” Like that technicality was the only problem. “We’ll shop amongst a few appropriate alphas, of course. It’s important to consider our options, after all. I’ve already met up with a matchmaker to do some preliminary screenings.”

How positively medieval. Nanao was going to have a field day.

Then, “You know, dear, if you’d be a little more…omega, we wouldn’t have to interfere.”

There’s a flash of pain in her chest before it's replaced by searing hot anger. “ _More omega, Mother_?”

“Lady-like, dear. Don’t be so sensitive,” she replies, dismissive. “You know. A little more…open, friendly. Like that Inoue girl you live with. Now, she’s delightful.” Her mother sighs, and Rukia can practically see her shake her head in disappointment. “You get that frigidness from your father you know, you and your brother both. There’s more warmth in a cold fish.”

Over the grinding of her teeth, Rukia manages, “Have you considered that I’m not _open_ because I’m not interested in other people, let alone in getting married. Right now, or ever?”

“Oh, don’t be silly!”

Trying for a controlled breath as her mother continues to prattle, Rukia interrupts to demand, “I get no say in this?”

“Of course, you do, darling,” her mother tsks, “you’ll have to let me know your schedule so you’ll be able to meet them. In fact, make sure you’re free on Saturday, I have a candidate that would be just _perfect_ for you.” Then, gasping, “I have the perfect outfit to go with it too! I’ll send it with the car. Ta, dear!”

Rukia’s _this close_ to throwing her phone at a wall. Instead, with as much control as she can muster, she shoves it into her pocket, and shoulders her way into the Sand Dollar.

She’s already late.

Inside, she finds two of her three housemates all dolled up for a night on the town, and clearly too many drinks ahead of her as Inoue pleas: “Did you call him? Did you call him, Tatsuki-chan – _Tatsuki-chan!_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” the alpha says, sounding exhausted. Her buzz having clearly been affected by her darkening mood.

“Hey,” Rukia manages, trying to smile through the anger that’s still gripping her chest, vice-like and unyielding. “Where’s Ran?” Because if anyone can get her to completely cut loose and calm down about the _fucking fantastic_ state of her life, it was Rangiku.

Tatsuki replies, “Hell if I know, probably flirting with that poly-sci weirdo again. The one that’s always smiling?”

Rukia doesn’t shudder, but it’s a close thing.

Ichimaru Gin is an acquired taste, and she spares the thought to wonder if whatever type Gin fits into, if it also happens to be Rangiku’s. Either way, Rukia doesn’t have much time to wonder about it when Inoue starts crying, “Ano-ano, Tatsuki-chan! Did you call him? Is he coming?”

And it says something about Tatsuki’s state that she shrugs her best friend off angrily, and jabs at the phone in her hand.

Inoue doesn’t really notice though, drunk off her ass as she is.

“What’s going on?” Rukia asks, wincing against the pure _distress_ Inoue’s giving off with her scent alone, never mind the spectacle she’s making of herself.

Usually, Inoue would attract attention by sheer virtue of existing in any general vicinity; being the perfect, stereotypical omega will do that. But this time, all she’s doing is attracting stares. At this point, most, if not everyone, has moved away from the tiny table they’ve commandeered for themselves.

“The plan isn’t working,” Inoue all but sobs, collapsing on her arms to muffle her cries which is a small mercy, truly.

She’s giving off desperation so potently Rukia’s afraid of how it’ll embarrass Inoue once she realizes that it's coming from _her_. 

For all her dramatics, Inoue isn’t so forward as to behave like this without alcohol being involved. Though, that doesn’t change the facts here: “Another plan, really?”

Rukia’s heard far too many of them since Inoue’s moved into their apartment. Something Tatsuki had bitterly admitted made Rukia _lucky_ because, quote: “She’s been in love with him since junior high.” Despite the fact that Inoue’s never _actually_ met this _Kurosaki-kun_ she gives verbal dissertations about on a regular basis.

Nonetheless, there’ve been multiple attempts to initiate the “ultimate meet-cute” since, and clearly this is just another in a long line of failed ones.

“Step one: Get tipsy,” Tatsuki intones expectantly, “step two: Get Ichigo over here to save her. Step three: -”

“Our meet cute!” Inoue bursts, “He’s late; he’s not coming!” And then she’s too busy crying and wailing to care that Tatsuki tells Rukia, “He said he’d be here after work, but Orihime hit the bottle too hard and now -”

“He’s not coming, you said he’d come Tatsuki!”

To that, Tatsuki sighs in return, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Even if he does come, do you really want him to see you like this?”

The crying is happening double time now, and it’s almost as loud as the music.

She can’t believe she agreed to go out just for it to be another “Ichigo and Inoue meet-cute attempt” instead of a de-stressing bar hop with her housemates. Misleading plans on top of that phone call with her mother seems like a suitable follow-up, though.

Edging away from the table, Rukia says, “I’m gonna…not be here.”

“I really don’t blame you,” Tatsuki sighs, abandoning her phone on the table as a lost cause, as well as Inoue herself, and downing her drink in one.

Shaking her head, Rukia considers heading back to the apartment until she sees an open spot at the bar and well. There are worst coping mechanisms for dealing with shitty parents and ruined plans, right?

She doesn’t know how long she sits there nursing her cocktail and trying to will the loud music to drown out her still simmering rage, but it must’ve been long enough for it to cool because the next time someone slides into the seat next to her, Rukia lets the passing contact of their shoulders linger.

The first person who’d done it, a beta using too much alpha-designated cologne, had only managed to open his mouth before being scared off with a disapproving side-eye.

_This should be considered progress._

From the corner of her eye, she sees the owner of the Sand Dollar, Urahara, raise his sake cup in mocking congratulations.

Rukia exhales a breath in an unwilling chuckle.

“Something funny?” the guy beside her asks, and thank the gods, he’s got scent blockers on rather than the cologne the beta was wearing.

Though with a subtle sniff, Rukia thinks it would suit him better than the other guy – this one’s actually an alpha. Not that that really improves the situation.

“Nope,” Rukia says, resolutely not looking his way.

Betas are easier to scare off, but most alphas tend towards a persistence that usually requires Tessai’s **,** the bartender and the Sand Dollar’s unofficial bouncer, very specific brand of interference. And Rukia’s basically given him the night off with her general attitude, it just wouldn’t be fair to put him back on the clock.

After all, she had taken care of the alpha just fine before this one. She can handle another.

Although, he muses, “Huh, and here I was thinking you’d be ready to tear me to ribbons.”

“Is that how you get your jollies off?” Rukia drawls, and instead of spluttering in indignation, or launching into some speech about _omega manners and etiquette_ and _other fucking bullshit_ like the alpha woman before him that’s getting Rukia heated just thinking about it again; _this alpha_ just snickers.

Still spoiling for an excuse to flash her teeth, and growl in a very-not-omega-approved-way, Rukia prods with words too sharp just to be a tease, “So you do.”

“Maybe,” he allows, and from the corner of her eye, she unwillingly catches the curve of a smirk at his mouth. “God knows I could use a break from the usual bullshit.”

“Such as?”

At that, he sighs, dramatic and long-suffering; his elbow jostling hers against the counter. Rukia’s prepared for some mediocre man-pain problem, and isn’t entirely wrong: “Omega scheming, for one.”

But Rukia’s ears flush furiously at the stereotype because _it is one_ which is also the moment she remembers _Inoue –_ hears her even, still at the table moaning to Tatsuki about _where’s Kurosaki-kun?_ – And Rukia can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed or angry. She decides she can be both. “Would you like me to play you a song on the tiniest violin?”

He smothers his response with another pull from his beer, and his non-answer is enough to drag her attention towards him.

He looks different than she expected him to, but its Rukia’s own fault, really.

Despite herself, she’d tried to imagine the kind of lips that could exhale a low, rough voice and the reluctant laugh that came with it, and how the sparks of gold in a depth of burned honey would look like flint from a fire when something caught his interest.

Seeing him in his entirety is a mistake.

It’s like catching the wink of the sun through the storm clouds; magnetic as the only bright point in the darkness, and mesmerizing in its subtlety and delicate in its suspended fragility. To have that sun take her in; linger on her eyes and her lips in the same way she does him. Well.

Rukia looks away abruptly, mentally blaming her blush on the alcohol, and thanking the gods she wears scent blockers as religiously as she does.

Though, she does, for a moment, hate that he uses them too.

She’d only known he was an alpha because of the general “base” tone of his scent that pinpointed secondary gender – omega, beta or alpha. But when it came to the more complex notes of a person’s scent, most alphas don’t smell that good to her: too blunt with no subtlety whatsoever; too thick and heavy in body that it felt like you were being suffocated beneath them.

Even Renji’s scent puts her off sometimes, and that’s without the gross “ _mate me”_ pheromones he gives off whenever Byakuya-nissama is in the room. And. That works. Yes.

Think about your brother and your idiot of a best friend. Not –

“I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had a day,” the alpha beside her interrupts smoothly; voice steady, deliberate. “And honestly, you aren’t helping.”

Rukia’s so turned around at that, that _she’s the one that splutters_ , “What?”

Even beneath the blockers, his scent reaches out to her in seeming answer; deceptively sweet in the form of a crisp autumn air and a touch of Christmas morning that grows steadily headier; curling thick, mouth-wateringly good, and – oh.

_This is definitely a mistake waiting to happen._


	3. Chapter 3

Rukia is not the type of person who sleeps around. She just. Isn’t.

After her disastrous first time borne almost exclusively by curiosity and a rather vindictive need to get rid of her “v” card – a social conditioning she’d fallen into and regretted every day since – rather than mind-numbing lust; she’d washed her hands of the whole thing, and mused that maybe sex just wasn’t for her.

She’d always seen herself as decisive enough in her choices that when the topic had come up – at sleepovers or girls’ nights or omega gatherings or even meetings with the Organization for Omega Rights – no one had ever thought to question her.

Though, even if they had, she’d always been stubborn.

Sex was so hugely _not for her_ after the first timethat she didn’t even bother experimenting between the different sexes of primary or secondary gender. She’d just. Been okay with not being the type to want sex after she’d done it once.

Sure, she liked having fun just fine when she was in the mood for it. And her heats, a thrice yearly occurrence, while mostly inconvenient, was occasionally still enjoyable.

Rukia had entertained that maybe the sex part of love just wasn’t for her which was just fine too. While she liked the thought of a wild passionate romance, she was also all too aware how that could backfire.

Her parents providing Exhibit A through G very nicely; if wild passionate romance _was_ what it was. There’s a part of her that likes to live in the bubble that her parents loved each other at some point in their relationship.

In any case, back to the point: Sex.

Rukia just. Wasn’t interested after the first time. Let alone sex in a semi-public place.

The idea wouldn’t have even occurred to her, never mind having it be suggested to her by someone else.

Which is to say: someone suggested it now, and she’s _definitely interested._

It might be because the alpha is. Well. _Attractive._ And _Rukia_ _is_ _attracted_ which both seems like understatements. But there it is.

And it might be because after kissing him, Rukia realizes that he’s close to his rut; the tingle in the taste of his mouth like the flirtatious, fleeting threat of lightning; sweeping along his tongue to drag her into the storm of him.

Either way, somehow, he’d gotten her in the bathroom which is blessedly clean and also blessedly “single-use only” despite its toilet being hidden away in a separate stall which they’re definitely not going to go into because even with her backed up against a wall, and “ _Ichigo, my name’s Ichigo”_ claiming her mouth – their tongues flicking and exploring and tasting as he squeezes her thighs – Rukia _has standards, okay?_

Like he’s trying to contradict her, Ichigo draws his lips away and _that’s just not okay._

Digging her short nails into his hair and scratching at his scalp in both a taunt and a retribution, she groans through her embarrassed flush, and opens her eyes to meet his: hooded and dark with sinful promise. Rukia will be _damned_ if he’s all talk.

In a hiccupped breath, she demands, “Why’d you – why’d you stop?”

He struggles to reply, like it had physically pained him to pull away in the first place to ask, “Can I mark you?”

At that, she whimpers to the deepening approval in his eyes and in his scent and the firm press of his hips against the cradle of hers as her reward. But before he can go right back to business, somehow, Rukia manages to stutter, “Not anywhere anyone can see.”

With a hum, he tugs the buttons of her blouse loose and parts the material aside like he’s opening a long-awaited present, smirking as his gaze flickers up to meet her and tease, “I can work with that.”

Rukia almost crosses her arms and covers herself in embarrassment, but she resists through sheer force of pride, and his pupils dilate entirely at her modest chest in its bralette that his hushed exhale of, “I can definitely work with that”, makes her thighs tremble.

Ichigo goes for her neck first; mouth pressing firmly like fingertips along the column before she tightens at the fistful of his hair, and he reroutes to trace her clavicle and then her sternum with his tongue.

He doesn’t even bother to stoop to do it despite their height difference.

He chooses to _lift her instead_ , guiding her legs around his hips, and accidentally or otherwise, aligning a truly impressive piece of equipment at the mouth of hers so perfectly that they’re both gasping at the shock of pleasure it shoots between them; the zipper of her jeans pressing _just right_ against a certain spotthat for an instant her vision whites out.

In the valley between her breasts, he growls.

Close as they are, the blockers are practically useless and Rukia is breathing in their lust, their scents intertwining like vines; ensnaring and growing almost indistinguishable from the other that it takes her breath away with how _good it all is, how right._

Using his teeth to unhook her bra from its center clasp, Ichigo all but groans against her skin; his scent thickening in a haze as his hips piston against hers in a relentless and unapologetic wave that she feels like she’s half out of her mind for even _trying_ to swim with the tides, though that certainly doesn’t stop her from keeping up anyway.

Her legs curl as close as they can over his hips, crossing her feet at the ankles and digging her heels against the hitch where his back meets his ass; she rolls her hips in tedium as if they’re part of the same being racing towards a singular purpose.

“Like that,” he murmurs, half awed – half-wild. “Fuck Rukia, _fuck.”_ And her skin flushes hot at the praise of it, the sheer pleasure of it.

As he moves, his abdomen presses the zipper of her pants deeper and longer; her body panting slick between them through the denim of their jeans, soaking it through. The smell that fills her lungs feels like it’s drowning her until the loud rush of blood in her ears starts to quiet; beneath a wave he’s pulled her under, Rukia feels safe; cocooned, before it all crashes around her.

The waves roar.

The walls, a witness to their every whimper, moan, gasp and keen, echo like a symphony around them. Their half-garbled words of encouragement and curses lost to dual drawn out sounds that could be a sigh and a cry both before their movements stagger and eventually, stop altogether; spent and exhausted.

What feels like hours later, Rukia sluggishly realizes that their faces are nestled into the juncture where neck meets torso on the other; her hands and legs wrapped weakly around Ichigo as he leans his weight as much as hers, onto the wall.

They breathe together and listen to their heartbeats sync; a single being.

The strange peace between them is shattered by a pounding on the door, and their grips on one another – of his back and her thighs – tighten in surprise.

After several insistent _thump, thump, thumps_ , there’s a shout, “Oi, Ichigo!”

With a long-suffering sigh, he pulls away from the sanctuary he’d made against her skin, and replies in a normal volume because _they literally fucked against the wall next to the door, what the fuck,_ “What do you want, Keigo?”

And Ichigo’s annoyed yeah, but there’s a pleased sort of hum beneath his voice; roughened and addictive, like bourbon dripping from his lips; his scent simmering caramel-sweet.

Then, “Ichigo, Ichigo! _Inoue’s here~”_

And it’s not that Rukia tenses all over again. Except she does.

Why is Inoue important? Why does she matter? Why –

The sudden burnt smell of sugar in Ichigo’s scent doesn’t help. But. he looks more annoyed than anything as he scowls, brows jumping in a flinch as a muscle along his temple pulses a little. His reply to the revelation of Inoue rings of a warning, “And?”

A pregnant pause is then followed by an indignant spluttering, like a balloon deflating, “Gah, you’re so ungrateful! -”

A tirade follows, tired and annoyingly dismissive of Ichigo’s lack of interest; something Rukia relates to so much that she echoes the eye roll Ichigo graces her with, in response to it.

At her apparent understanding, a corner of his lips uptick.

Rukia thinks he’ll lean down just to kiss her again.

He doesn’t.

In a moment that’s strangely more intimate than what they’d been doing, Ichigo presses his forehead against hers and breathes in. Her eyes widen before she takes a tentative inhale and understands: The smell of sex is still in the air, but its softened in its potency; the edge of its desperation dulled by a hunger sated, even if their clothes are clinging uncomfortably in the aftermath.

Rukia’s cheeks flush at the thought of it, and she squeezes his shoulder, once – twice, and whispers, “Maybe we should get cleaned up?”

Over Keigo’s on-going expounding of Inoue’s virtues – and really, if there’s one thing that can be relied on its Inoue’s adoring fan club – Ichigo lets Rukia down. He steadies her shakiness on her own two feet before they’re abusing the toilet roll machine, and doing as much damage control as they can with 2-ply, pink hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser, and water from the sink.

Their jeans are a lot cause, but their shirts are salvageable enough. Maybe.

Cleaning up goes about as well as it can be expected, and they still look pretty debauched, but Rukia feels downright _giddy_. Probably still on the high her night has taken. And it’s ridiculous and embarrassing and _fucking funny_ in hindsight that somehow her life has come to this that she can’t help but think that if her earlier shitty day is the universe’s payment for this that it’d be worth it.

Right until Keigo ends his speech with a flourish of, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Kurosaki!”

And.

“Kurosaki?” Rukia echoes, her brow knitting. Trying to understand. Trying to remember. Why that name is. Familiar.

Ichigo raises a brow like he doesn’t understand either what it is her face is doing as she’s thinking which is when Inoue’s voice follows after Keigo’s declaration to ask, “Ano, Asano-kun, is Kurosaki-kun here?”

And.

_Oh my god._

“You’re _the_ Kurosaki,” Rukia realizes in a daze, garnering a sustained look of confusion before Ichigo realizes he even has connections to make at all.

Beyond the door, Tatsuki’s voice joins them to complain, “Oi, Hime; we should go, ne. Rukia’s already gone back to the apartment, and Ichigo’s not coming. Let’s just go home.”

Which is then that he connects the dots, and the results hit him like a bus to echo _with feeling_ , “Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

“- don’t you think, Kuchiki-san?”

And she could. 

He’d certainly be happier for it if Rukia _didn’t_ think. As it is, he seems satisfied that _he_ thinks she doesn’t.

It’s horrifyingly easy.

Her first date in the long line of many her mother and the matchmaker have planned, has _zero_ interest in Rukia as a person.

She knows what she looks like. As an omega, she’s stereotypically small and delicate. And without any of her familiar fire; her will to argue or fight or lose her temper _at the sheer farce of this attempt at courtship,_ Rukia is exactly who her parents, and this random alpha whose name she’s long forgotten, want her to be.

As per her mother’s pleas and her father’s stoic request for her best behavior, Rukia thinks at the very least, she’s done what they all want.

Up until the date ends with what was supposed to be a perfunctory kiss that is instead replaced by the alpha withdrawing as if he’d been slapped across the face: “You have someone,” he sneers, and Rukia.

Well.

At first, she’s offended.

She’d literally stood under the showerhead for forty-five minutes after their encounter that Thursday trying to get the smell of Ichigo off of her.

While she mostly succeeded – Tatsuki only getting the hint that she’d been up close and personal with another alpha – evidently, an alpha giving off _rut_ pheromones was not a scent easily disguised.

Even if it is just sex, the more conservative types read it as _mating_.

But so long as no one got close enough to where Ichigo had left it – the curve of her neck and shoulder – a place that _this alpha_ literally nose-dived into when he’d aimed to kiss the underside of her jaw – a presumptuous placement, if anything else – no one would be the wiser. Which this alpha, clearly was not.

And Rukia, see. She could take this alpha’s accusation the wrong way.

Or the right way, really. Depending on who’s asking. But frankly, she doesn’t think there is a _wrong way_ when there’s surely nothing more scandalous than a seemingly perfect, virtuous omega being _used goods_.

Her mother and the matchmaker will have _aneurysms._

Rukia’s never been more delighted; her glee practically incandescent as the alpha stalks off, clearly upset as he whines his displeasure to whoever’s on the other end of his immediate phone call that, “this omega is _one of those tainted ones_ , and not _pure like the_ _freshly fallen snow_ as advertised.”

She snorts, having caught the familiar scent of _sex_ on him, and mentally rolling her eyes at the hypocrisy of it all.

She doesn’t bother waiting for her mother’s distraught and furious phone call; Rukia makes the call herself to say, “ _I don’t think it’s going to work out”_ in such a bland, monotonous fashion that at first, her mother actually sounds like she’s trying to comfort her.

Rukia will hold those sixty seconds close to her heart, even as she blocks her – and the matchmaker’s – numbers from her phone.

The latter, a coincidental last-minute decision that’s probably only twenty seconds off when the matchmaker’s aggressively long text message on _proper omega etiquette_ and “ _I’ve never in my life -!”_ pearl-clutching horror arrives in Rukia’s inbox that she immediately forwards it to some of the members of the Organization of Omega Rights.

Nanao _will cry laughing_. Rukia can’t wait to be accused of ruining their president’s cool reputation.

More than that, though, the whole thing has set an idea off in her head like a firework, and now it feels like Rukia’s got her hands full with matches.

She goes back to the apartment to pack a bag, pausing to text: _You up?_

Ichigo doesn’t bother asking who the unknown number that’s texted him is, choosing to reply: _It’s two in the afternoon, what do you think?_

Rukia smirks. _Someone’s testy._ Then, _I assume your rut hasn’t quite started yet?_

There’s a prolonged cycle of epilepsies before her phone rings, and he’s demanding, “What do you want?”

Suppressing the shiver his growl sends up her spine, Rukia replies, “I have a proposal.”

He pauses, and Rukia thinks maybe he’d forgotten about her already.

She had left him high and dry, relatively speaking, after Keigo decided to keep Ichigo’s whereabouts to himself that he managed to herd both Inoue and Tatsuki away; aiding in their escape through the back before Rukia had stalked off without further explanation. Not that it seemed surprising.

For all that Ichigo had never officially met Inoue, he seemed to have it right to want to avoid her that night.

Honestly, Rukia can’t even blame him. She’d had to listen to Inoue make up heroic tales to cover for the fact that her _Kurosaki-kun_ hadn’t shown up to rescue her. Rukia had almost torn up the phone number he’d snuck into her pocket on principle.

Clearly, he’d thought the same.

Still, he hides whatever surprise he feels and goes for casual, “That sounds like an awful idea.”

Wedging her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stuffs some clothes into her bag, Rukia scoffs, “You haven’t even heard it yet,”

“I’ve met you,” he drawls, and she thinks he’s smirking. “I think it’s a safe assumption.”

“You’re acting like _I’m the one_ that strongly implied we should fuck in the bathroom of a bar,” Rukia reminds, and at least that she knows for sure. While she was just as much an active participant, Ichigo had instigated the whole thing.

To be contrary, something she’s starting to see is a pattern for him, he says, “That’s where you’re wrong. We didn’t fuck.”

At that, she snorts. “The jeans and underwear you destroyed say differently.”

And at that he chuckles; the undertow of his approval, his pleasure turning his voice into molasses when he purrs, “When I do fuck you, Rukia, it won’t just be your clothes I ruin.”

Her cheeks heat, and she finds herself sitting on the bed and crossing her legs with a splutter, _arrogant, shameless -!_ Before she gathers herself enough to reply, far steadier than she feels, “Big talk, can you back that up?”

“Time and place?” And he’s toying with her – she knows it – Ichigo thinks _she’s all talk too_. Rukia notches her chin.

“Now. Yours.”

That gives him pause before finally, “What’s the game here?”

“No game.”

“Rukia,” and he sounds. Frustrated. Sexually. Rukia doesn’t know how she knows that, but it’s an assumption her body makes with how wet her underwear feels, how her thighs have started to slick. But she figures it might just be because his voice is hoarse and frayed at the edges, and Rukia _swears_ that the cinnamon scent of his arousal is somehow being conveyed through the phone and is tickling at her nerve endings.

“My parents are setting me up,” she admits.

She can practically see his furrowed brows, his confusion. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Your scent was still on me from Thursday, and it caused a bit of a snag in the proceedings with my date today.”

It’s the alpha possessiveness that sends him growling again, and even though under normal circumstances, the posturing would irritate her, there’s nothing normal for her about what she’s suggesting. Rukia gives herself half a second to hesitate, but the words spill out anyway, “I need you to fuck me.”

With the roaring of blood rushing to her head, turning her cheeks, neck, and ears red; she doesn’t catch Ichigo’s sharp intake of breath, the whine. All she hears is the frenetic quality at the edge of her own voice as she hastens to explain, “The fact that I’ve let anyone mark me the way you have is off-putting enough to the _nun_ of a matchmaker my mother got, and will probably ruin the sensibilities of the alphas she’s had lined up to meet me. But doused in your heat hormones? It’ll send her, and them, running for sure.”

There’s an audible swallow over the line. Then, carefully neutral, “You know, we don’t actually need to fuck to get my scent on you. Heat or not.”

“I know,” she allows. But. “Who says we both can’t get what we want?”

“Rukia,” it’s a warning, a plea. But it’s not a no.

“It won’t mean anything,” she says. “I’m not looking to fall in love, especially since my housemate’s already in love with you to begin with. The last thing I want is to make things complicated, but you know what they say, a mess gets worse before it gets better. I figured I might as well enjoy it.”

“You don’t seem to mind a little mess,” Ichigo notes, reluctantly amused, unwillingly impressed.

She shrugs, and smiles despite herself. Omega scheming, does have its uses, doesn’t it? “What girl doesn’t like a little chaos?”

He hums, considering. Then, “I’ll text you the address.”

“I’ll be there.”

After ending the call, she sends the address to both Nanao and Renji: _If I don’t get in contact in exactly twenty-four hours, storm the building._

Nanao sends a thumbs-up.

Renji responds with the side-eye emoji and teases, _H_ _ot date?_

Rukia snorts. _Go flirt with my brother._

 _Sure,_ her best friend replies, _I’ll go ‘flirt’ with him._ Rukia would gag, but she’d walked into that one. Rolling her eyes, she tosses her phone, grabs her toiletries and her towel, and heads to the bathroom.

She’s got the apartment to herself for at least an hour before Rangiku comes home – if she does at all – and Rukia takes full advantage. Though, perhaps not _full_ advantage, per se. There’s no need to tire herself out when the little she knows of Ichigo from first-hand experience says he’ll be more than happy to take care of her himself. She shivers at the thought alone.

Nonetheless, the warm shower soothes whatever nerves and doubts she has, and by the time she’s standing in front of the mirror, she feels almost eerily calm.

She doesn’t put on scent blockers.

She dresses comfortably; almost like she’s going to relax on the rooftop terrace of the apartment building rather than go to a _dick appointment_ , as Rangiku would say.

Ichigo hadn’t cared what she wore last time she’d seen him; she highly doubts he’d care now. Particularly since clothes were going to be optional as soon as she walked through the door.

Where her jeans had rested on her hips, there are slight indentations from where he’d pressed. There’s still a little ache when she echoes the touch.

As she slips a simple t-shirt on the marks he’d left – the fading blossoms of color clustered in the valley of her breasts, scattering like stars up the v of her chest before they turn into smudges of shadow over the curve of her shoulder and neck – they disappear beneath the material. Rukia wonders how he’ll replace them.

She loiters in the apartment just long enough for Rangiku to get back, and seeing her bag, the blonde wiggles her brows. “Plans?”

“Something like that.” Her blush does little to hide the nature of them.

The other girl smirks. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“There’s literally nothing you wouldn’t do,” Rukia reminds, rolling her eyes fondly

Rangiku laughs, slapping Rukia on the ass with a knowing, “ _Exactly_.” Before she’s teasing, “Make safe choices!”

Rukia pauses to look thoughtful, “How about bad ones?”

“Meh, as long as they’re fun to make.” Rangiku winks, and Rukia shakes her head and waves her housemate off.

 _Chicken out?_ Her phone reads just as she’s about to knock on his door, making her huff before she raises a fist, and leans against the doorframe to wait.

Rukia doesn’t know what she expects when she opens the door, but Ichigo in a towel, hair flat and dripping water down his neck, sending truly riveting patterns of water down the planes of his bare chest – was not it.

Somehow, her mask doesn’t slip, and she blinks at him innocently. “I got lost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just to clarify for anyone who is confused about the sex in the previous chapter i.e: where it was because they were 'just rutting' like. This is a PSA. Penetration is not necessary for sex. They both came. Move on.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite what most romance novels want its readers to believe, it’s not all throwing lovers against walls and doors, and having their virtue tainted and making good on threats of _being ruined for all others_. Though, Rukia’s not going to lie, she did have _some_ expectations.

Leaning against Ichigo’s kitchen counter and watching him pace, barefoot and in a towel meets none of those expectations.

“Have you changed your mind?” she finally asks, counting the third time he’s made the circuit around the room.

“No.”

Rukia raises her brows but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t really need to, and he knows it. He finally stops, though only to spit in the sink; no doubt his approaching rut is making the gathering slick in his mouth pool.

Over the rush of the tap, he asks, “Have you ever spent a rut with someone before?”

She shrugs. “I’ve done high school biology; I know what it entails.”

It’s a mating cycle; the alpha version of an omega’s heat. When spent with someone else, more often than not, its sex, and a lot of it, until the body is satisfied – or tricked – into thinking it’s been bred, or has bred successfully. Typically it lasts two to three days. Signs include –

“Knowing and experiencing are two very different things,” he interjects dryly, and now that Ichigo’s turned around to face her, is standing still so he can properly glare and scowl at her to his heart’s content, it’s easier to see why he’d been so restless – so on edge.

It's loud and clear in his body language: the rut is settling in.

“I’m sure you’ll be a good teacher,” Rukia says, and his eyes flicker around her face – her eyes, her mouth – and his Adam’s Apple bobs.

“You’re sure?”

She lifts her chin again, all confidence; bravado. “I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t.”

He leans against the opposite counter; grips the edge as he considers her.

And Rukia knows he’s trying to find a lie, a tell; either in her scent or in the way she holds herself, but he won’t find any. She knows because she feels that eerie calmness again, strangely attuned; waiting.

Ichigo sighs. “Alright. Alright, fine.” Then, “What are you…what do you consent to do?”

And that’s. A surprise.

Rukia’s genuinely thrown because she hasn’t really. Considered.

This. This feels like a trick.

Now, there’s hesitance, “What do you usually want to do when you’re in rut?” His look is flat, and she raises her hands in surrender. “Hey, I may be here for selfish reasons, but I am also here for you. So. What do you want?”

“You can - you can do whatever you want to me,” he says, but Rukia shakes her head.

“That isn’t what I asked.” His grip on the counter tightens when she pushes off slowly like she’s approaching something wild; something dangerous. “What do you want to do _with me,_ Ichigo?”

Maybe it’s the question, or the proximity, or even her scent – god knows what it’s doing to him without the blockers disguising it – but Rukia gets her answer:

Pushed across the small space of the kitchen, back against the counter with Ichigo a firm, furnace of heat flushed in front of her, he dips his head to capture her lips.

He doesn’t even open his mouth to it which she _will not stand for_ because there’s something smeared across his lips, and it’s – it’s _delicious_.

She cradles his face as she maneuvers their mouths, easing her tongue between his lips to chase after it – and it’s only when she’s swiping, sipping and sucking to get more that Rukia realizes that the taste can only be _Ichigo._

His groan rumbles from his chest, and she stretches her fingers across his pecs to feel the comforting vibration of it, his heartbeat steady as the reality settles into her mind what it is that’s happening, what this is going to feel like.

She’s starting to get a little hazy; lightheaded.

And Ichigo feels it, and withdraws, gentle; reluctant.

Their foreheads are pressed together. His pupils are large and dark, the brown of his iris a thin ring. His lips are wet and red and – and even though she’s only done this once with him before, she knows exactly what’s pressing solid and hot at her hip. But before she can think of it, his voice comes low, commanding, “You need to tell me what I can’t do. I need to know now.”

Rukia shakes her head to clear it, and swallows before a laugh tickles at her throat. “I don’t – I don’t even know what I _don’t want_.”

At that, he growls, but it isn’t displeasure. It’s – it’s the opposite, but also. Not? “Rukia,” and now Ichigo sounds pained, drawn thin. “I want. I want to do so much, but I don’t know what you -”

“I haven’t done a lot of things before,” she interjects, seeing the difficulty he’s having in trying to find the words to explain. But Rukia feels shy enough to stutter, “You’re gonna have to. You’re gonna have to show me.”

Apparently comforted that she isn’t as cool as she pretends, his snicker sounds choked. “Would’ve preferred to do that without the haze of a rut.”

“What, you can’t take the challenge?” she teases, scratching her nails down his chest, tweaking a budding nipple as she goes. Rukia arches to catch his lips again, albeit chastely, this time. Before, she prompts once more, “Tell me what you want to do with me, Ichigo.”

His eyes have glazed over a little, and she can’t tell if the purring is coming from him or from her. “Fuck.”

At that, though, she nods indulgently, the picture of seriousness. “Yes, _that._ We can start with that.”

His agreement is a hum before he tugs her pants off of her – underwear included – and places her, bare-assed onto the island countertop. His towel’s fallen, but she doesn’t really get the chance to see, hoisted up as she is.

She hisses at the cold against her skin, a sound that’s warped and lost beneath a whimper as his hips spread her legs and his fingers tease circles along the softest part of her thighs, inching higher. Rukia would be embarrassed about how she’s leaking, ruining his counter, dampening his abdomen, but the rumbles from his chest sounds pleased, his scent curling sweet.

He grazes her teeth along the arch of muscle at her shoulder as he sinks into the wet heat of her.

Rukia doesn’t know which one of them is groaning, but she can think of little else but how thick his fingers feel inside her, and digging hers into his skin in imitation.

Rocking her hips against him in time to the pump of his fingers – is it one, is it two? – she distantly hears her own mewls, the obscene sounds of her sex sucking him in before giving to let him go.

There’s a broken noise he muffles against her shoulder as he murmurs in a liturgy of praise, “So good, so sweet.” Before Ichigo withdraws enough to breathe against her neck to plea, “Fuck, can I taste?”

She whimpers, and then nods wordlessly.

Tugged gently forward on the counter, balancing precariously on the edge; she frames her legs against the golden arcs of his shoulders as he kneels between her thighs.

At this angle, his mouth is already wet – literally watering, dripping – as he parts his glistening lips to lay siege: tongue firm and insistent as it takes the measure of her folds before prodding deeper; his nose to the hair at the apex of her. His moans tremble through her body, shaking something within her loose; liquid heat leaking from the fissures he’s made of her as the muscles of her thighs tremble to close around him, to keep his devotion where it feels the most holy.

Her back arches; her mouth open in silent rapture. 

She doesn’t know how long it goes on; time lost in this ancient form of worship; body liquified and pliant against the cool relief of the kitchen island as he arranges her higher. 

Ichigo’s climbed up to join her at some stage; his breath is warm and thick, the tip of his nose damp from where it had been pressed against her. Rukia blushes at the thought. His eyes are dark, his voice washing over her like nectar, “Can I knot you?”

“I thought that was the point?” she manages breathlessly.

“I don’t have to, and,” he says, with some regret, “it would probably not be comfortable to do it here.”

Even in the state he’s made of her, Rukia laughs, cradling her hands around his jaw to order in a tease, “Commit, Kurosaki.”

It earns her a laugh in return, a closed mouth kiss that tastes like the both of them, before he withdraws to – Oh. Right. Condom.

And oh. More importantly.

_Dick._

Rukia doesn’t realize she’s gasped until Ichigo’s looking at her again, _huge throbbing dick_ encased in silicone and in hand, his other hand squeezes her hip comfortingly. Somehow, he looks embarrassed and only manages to open his mouth before she barrels on to interrupt him, “That’s going to fit in me?”

“The slick helps,” Ichigo says, his cheeks look warm and give a reddish hue beneath his skin. “Yours and mine.”

“Ah…ah,” she nods, her lower lip caught between her teeth before Rukia gathers herself again, and nods. “Ah.” Before he can ask again if she’s sure, she arranges her legs obligingly, and conversation ends there.

Biologically, she knows how this works, but he was right: knowing and experiencing are two very different things.

Her body seems to resist to the intrusion at first before it greedily swallows him in; his mouth gapes at the feeling while she gasps at the fullness that threatens to stretch her to breaking.

Ichigo doesn’t move, letting her adjust before, with an experimental roll of her hips, he’s grunting. “God, wait -”

“No, no,” she argues, weak but resolute, “god, you have to move, Ichigo. Fuck, it feels – _it feels –”_

With an exhale that sounds almost exasperated, his lips curl in a feral grin, a flash of teeth; and then he’s thrusting in earnest.

His hands crawl from her hip to her waist until his thumb is teasing her breast and his other hand is holding himself above her; his thrusts a long, deep push and pull that continues to roll like it’s pulled by the gravity of her.

There are no words, no teasing; just the slap of skin on skin, their groans, their keens.

Rukia doesn’t know whether he comes fast with short, sharp abortions; or long and slow, savoring and melting into her, but she knows she’s torn to shreds beneath him, and sown back together in an aftermath of their breathing, their scents wrapping sure and comforting around them as easily as his arms do.

She muffles her whimper against his shoulder as he holds her, as his knot stretches inside her.

The brush of his lips on her shoulder is thoughtless, the near-apologetic curl of his fingers rubbing gently at her lower back as he rolls them on their sides.

“How long are we…stuck…like this?”

“Fifteen minutes.” Ichigo winces as she feels his knot jerk inside her, making her squirm. “Twenty, maybe.”

“Ah,” Rukia acknowledges, grateful for the arm he’d slid beneath her head to rest on.

The kitchen island really wasn’t the best place to do this, she thinks with a wary, sardonic chuckle. And whether he knows what she’s laughing at or not, he must find something about this situation funny.

“Have you…done this before?” he finally asks.

“With you.”

His brows knit together. “That’s not what I -”

“We’ve established I haven’t had a rut with someone before, but I’ve had sex. I’ve just never been knotted before you.”

“Huh.” And this close, Ichigo couldn’t hide his satisfaction if he tried. It makes Rukia snort and shake her head to stem the blush it raises in her. Then, “It gets worse, y’know.”

“The knot,” she says, in alarm because. No. Absolutely not. High school biology couldn’t be _that_ far off.

And Ichigo shakes his head. “No, not. _The rut._ The rut gets worse.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Obviously,” she relaxes. That she’d known. That she’d been prepared for. It’s why she has a bag, why Nanao’s getting her notes for tomorrow, why Renji is on speed dial.

“Not just the sex,” Ichigo verifies, before amending, “But also the sex. I might want to have it when you’re resting or sleeping, but I’ll deal with it myself if you aren’t okay with that.”

Rukia considers. “As long as you’re…gentle.”

He huffs out a breath, but his cheeks are still red, and he’s still avoiding her eyes as he continues, “I’ll want to mark you too; I’ll try and keep it beneath your clothes. And.” He hesitates. “I’ll want you nearby all the time.”

“Nearby as in…”

“You can’t leave until it’s over or while I’m in rut, I’ll try and find you and bring you back.” Okay, that’s. Rukia had known that. She’s all too aware of the stories. Some are romantic. Most are. Not. She nods her understanding, and he continues, “I’ll also.” He actually _blushes_ this time, and she’s so surprised by the change she prods, “You’ll what?”

“There’s a lot of…nesting, involved.”

Her brows furrow. “I thought only omegas nested?”

“They do, but.” Again, the words escape him, and he pointedly avoids her gaze as he recites at some point over her shoulder, “Omegas nest to give themselves, and whoever is with them for their heat, a safe space. Alphas physically make sure whoever is with them is…happy, taken care of. It’s our version of nesting.”

Rukia blinks, letting the information sink in because yes, historically, that’s what alphas are expected to do, but it’s far more common for them to get aggressive and fight instead, an easier outlet, she supposes. Just like how most omegas don’t nest so much as they make a blanket fort and hide in it for the length of their heat.

“So,” she drags out, “what you’re saying is, you’ll take care of me.”

“I will,” and it’s frankly adorable how serious he is about it. Rukia smothers a smile. “There will be a lot of. Sex,” Ichigo says haltingly, “And it’ll be harder on you. It’s only right that I take care of you.”

And take care of her he does.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No update for the rest of the weekend, so please enjoy a double-bill of smut

Rukia's never really thought about an alpha's rut.

After her only encounter, at least before Ichigo, she had no reason to. Sure, she'd been curious. But that's what literature was for. Most were obviously not that reliable – being sensationalist trash that Rukia liked to indulge in every now and again via dime-store romance novels neatly sealed away in a Tupperware container at the bottom of her closet – but she thought she'd had a general idea.

It's mostly right.

There is an obscene amount of sex.

After the kitchen island, the dam of Ichigo's self-control had broken, and they'd gotten as far as the couch in his living room. Then the floor, then the hallway. Before finally making it into his room.

He'd drawn the line at the bathroom: "I'm not coherent enough not to get us both hurt in there."

"Well," Rukia sighs dramatically, "there goes my fantasy of shower sex."

Adorably enough, Ichigo had turned red and muttered incoherently to himself.

Though that isn't to say it was _all sex_.

With the way her jaw aches, Rukia's almost willing to bet her life on the fact that they'd spent at least two hours just making out, and another just touching for the sake of touching: cataloging how the line of muscles are drawn upon the other's skin, mapping out where old scars and bruises bisect them in the most intimate form of topography.

Between catching their breathes, rehydrating and using the bathroom; they'd watched a couple of thirty-minute episodes of a sitcom, and got about a quarter way through an animal documentary. Memorably enough, too wrung out to move, they'd even played I-spy.

Though.

There was definitely still sex.

More than once over the course of several hours, with her body tired and her eyes drooping, she'd rouse from a nap with Ichigo in her in some way – sometimes just his fingers, sometimes it's his tongue. He'd been so enraptured doing it, so fascinated in his study that Rukia was convinced that for all of Ichigo's explorations and experimentations of her body, that if he were an instrument, he'd been slowly fine-tuning himself to orchestrate her pleasure perfectly.

Fortunately, he didn't always knot in her.

She'd heard enough stories about the chaffing and the pain that would come with getting knotted too often in too short amount of time, particularly during ruts and heats.

Instead, Ichigo had taken to fucking into her thighs, admitting in the breather they'd take after he'd come that besides it being unreasonable to expect her to take it every time (thank god for that bit of common sense), that knotting inside her would make what comes _after the rut_ harder:

She frowned. "What happens after the rut?"

Ichigo frowns in turn, then, "What's it like after you spend your heat with someone?"

I don't, Rukia doesn't say. At least not in a way that alphas do with either sex or fighting. For omegas it's mostly just cuddling. But, "I like to be alone after." She realizes, "I don't like relying on people too much so after my heat, I guess I get embarrassed and just, hide away?"

"Hm." Staring at the ceiling, hand tucked beneath his head, he says, "There's a temporary bond that forms when we knot with someone. Pretty sure it only happens in rut. But the less we do it, the better."

Rukia echoes his earlier hum.

As the hours go by, she does notice that he gets going a lot faster when he _doesn't_ knot inside her, and it raises follow up questions:

"Do you need to knot to finish the rut faster?"

"Presumably," he says. "Without knotting it'll take three days."

Then, "How does a temporary bond feel?"

Ichigo shrugs. "Don't know. It's the first time I'm getting through a rut with someone I'm not beating the shit out of."

"That's comforting," Rukia remarks, but she rises abruptly from the bed to get another protein bar before he can catch the dumb-stupid-so unnecessary tinge of approval in her scent at being Ichigo's first rut partner. "How'd you know about the temporary bond then?"

"Friend," he answers, resting his chin atop her shoulder when she re-joins him; the close proximity easier than anything else so far, which says a lot since _most of it_ has been natural; instinctual. "She'd said she didn't want her rut partner to leave," Ichigo continues, "went crazy for a few hours trying to get them back before she went through bond rejection."

Rukia winces. "You think that'll happen with us?"

"Only knotted you once," he points out. Then with a snort, Ichigo adds, "And knowing her, she probably wanted to knot the whole time it was happening. I think we'll be fine."

Chewing slower, Rukia considers him and asks, "Does that mean your rut will last longer than three days if you don't knot in me?"

"Maybe," Ichigo frowns. "I didn't even ask: do you have plans?"

"Just this," she replies, patting his thigh consolingly when the sudden spike of anxiety in his scent burns her nose. Yet another thing that experiencing a rut with an alpha has taught her: alphas can't hide their feelings in their scent when it's happening. It's probably the most honest they can ever be, and the most vulnerable. "But," Rukia allows, "I probably should let anyone who needs to know that I'll be busy until this is over."

Ichigo relaxes nonetheless with a slight incline of his head before opening his mouth to accept the remains of the protein bar she offers.

Thoughtfully, Rukia wonders, "How many times do you think you could knot in me, two or three? Before we're in the danger zone of temporary bonding?"

This time he doesn't answer, and when she looks over at him to check, she realizes he's fallen asleep.

Just as well, they've been at this for a while and as far as she knows, she's been the only one actually resting.

After making sure he's lying down comfortably, swept unconsciously in his arms as she does so. Rukia takes the break for what it is and closes her eyes.

When next she wakes it's because her phone is buzzing with the alarm she'd sent as a reminder to let everyone know how she's doing. Shutting it off, she texts them to say she's okay, and that she'll be back in a few days.

Rangiku responds with a side-eye emoji that Renji echoes, their dirty implications obvious enough in what they _don't_ say. Nanao, on the other hand, simply sends back a thumbs up, ever supportive, while Byakuya-niisama flatly informs, _mother is upset and she won't go away._

Rukia muffles her snicker just as Ichigo makes a noise of complaint. Thinking she'd woken him up, she covers her mouth, and waits a beat before peeking over her shoulder to find him still sleeping. But.

His expression is tight around his eyes; in pain, unhappy.

On either side of him, he's got handfuls of the bedsheet balled in his palms. His knuckles are white as his breathes are dragged out of him; his hips jerk up into nothing.

_Ah. The rut._

She's purring before she knows she's doing it as she soothes her palms over his chest. Crawling onto his lap, Rukia nuzzles into the juncture where his jaw hinges – where his scent is strongest – until he settles, his scowl softening in increments.

And Rukia could withdraw, but. Ichigo's still firm and hot and naked beneath her under the slip of a sheet, a fact that sends a pulse from her core that beats rhythmic and steady in her chest.

And well.

He did say she could do whatever she wanted to him, didn't he?

Chewing on her lip, Rukia exhales through her nose at his sleeping form and accuses, "Your rut's turned me into a pervert."

In response, his cock kicks up to brush against her, intimate and knowing through the slim material that separates them, and she chokes back a gasp.

Steadying herself on his chest, still hesitant, Rukia hitches her hips back, testing, and has to swallow down a surprised moan when the head of his dick rubs her clit just right.

Through the insistent pounding that's reached her ears, Rukia slips the sheet off and crawls backward until she's settled over his hips, the base of his full, hard cock juts between her thighs and sways. The head drools, and beneath her palm, the skin is silky soft, hot to the touch. Closing her fist around it, Ichigo's breath hitches, his hips and cock jerk.

His pre spills milky and sticky over her knuckles, down her wrist.

Though he whines softly, Ichigo still doesn't wake.

Twisting her hold, Rukia inches herself closer still; legs on either side of his hips, her lower body flushed with his cock. When she thrusts against it, it sends sparks and sizzles of heat up and down her body, and oh.

Oh.

That's. _That's._

She doesn't know what part of her brain decides that she needs something in her, but another part of her, the responsible part, screams at her to find a condom first. Fortunately, Ichigo had been more than prepared, and in the midst of the sheets, a foil packet is in easy reach.

He'd made it look easy, putting it on, but her hands are shaking and she almost puts the silicone glove inside out. The frustration of it is enough to put her off entirely, but when she succeeds?

When she guides him inside, it's.

It's stupid to say its worth it. But. _Damn_.

Rukia throws her head back in a sigh, a noise Ichigo echoes with her name in his sleep as his hips roll with her; attuned, complicit.

Rolling her hips back and raising herself above him, she thrusts back down, and he groans, as helpless to the sensation as she is until she's worked herself to the brink. And that's when he opens his eyes: vision hazy with sleep; darkened with lust and sparking with interest before he grips her hips, lifts his, and rocks up into the heat of her.

But Ichigo doesn't take control, just watches her take it – use it – _use him_. Fingers flexing, grasp lax.

He watches her like he can't look away; captive in his fascination, his wonder. He licks his lips like he can taste her in the air; he pants open-mouthed like could breathe her in and keep her there.

When Rukia feels the knot begin to thicken his dick, and he tries to pull away, she squeezes his wrist and shakes her head.

No. No. This is.

_I want this._

In a gusty exhale, he nods in return; closes his eyes and lets himself go.

His lashes flutter when he comes, his lips parting slow and sweet; his mouth drips slick at the corner, and greedily, she licks it clean. When his back arches against the bed, he bares his throat to her, and she accepts his offering with a flash of her teeth, the same feral grin he'd given her before he'd ripped her to pieces.

And omegas might be fragile, sweet-lipped things, but they know when something is theirs, and they're just as happy to claim it.

Rukia would be satisfied on principle alone to have made an alpha breathless during their own rut, but she feels like she's barely a person with how her body doesn't even feel like a body; more air and euphoria than skin and bone.

His breathes flutter the hair on her temple before he presses his lips against the skin there. It's the first kiss he's been able to give her this time around; the first time he hadn't been able to kiss her through it.

She rearranges herself to fix that, catching his lips in a sloppy kiss that's as good as she can make it. Like the first and final full-stop to an end of a long winding piece of prose.

Ichigo's just as slack in his response, but he traces the vertebrae of her spine like he's starting a whole other sonnet, and the first line he says aloud, hushed beneath the afternoon light they wear is: "Thank you."

With a smile, she presses her tease of _my pleasure_ against his lips, and Ichigo snorts to feel it, pinching her side until she's squirming and laughing with him.

Distantly, Rukia wonders if a temporary bond takes with both partners.

Presently, she thinks, she wouldn't mind if it did.


	7. Chapter 7

Sharing a rut or a heat, if it was the sexual kind, was a little bit different from leaving after a one-night stand. Not that she had much, or any, experience in either.

Even the trite romance novels had little wisdom to shed and said very little about the mechanisms of what came after a mating cycle beyond _and they lived happily ever after, after realizing they were true mates._

Which is bullshit, obviously.

“My parents were,” Ichigo says, like it’s nothing. Like entire generations' worth of omega propaganda wasn’t based on that kind of happenstance. Her gaping expression is answered with an awkward shrug and a, “it didn’t end well.”

Which. Again, only stirs _more_ questions, a fact that’s forgotten when Ichigo’s lips thin, eyes laser-focused on her body in a completely different way than what she’s grown used to.

The bruises he’s left in the past few days have started to bloom.

And though his scent is still poorly disguised with his rut at its end, Ichigo looks torn between a frown and a smirk at the sight of them. Still, Rukia pokes his cheek to get him to pick an expression, and he chooses to scowl. She snickers at the sight.

“You can’t seriously be mad.”

“Who says I am,” he retorts, and really, Rukia’s starting to think he just likes arguing with her.

“Well, I don’t know,” she trails, gaze turned to the ceiling thoughtfully as she tilts her head back against the rim of the tub; knowing what he’ll see: the hickeys he’d left against the crest of her neck.

It had been a lovely distraction from the fact that he’d been adamant about her sensitivity when she’d claimed there was no way she could keep orgasming after the past two days. It was simply impossible.

Of course, he’d taken that as a challenge, and had made her come with nothing but his fingers and his mouth on her neck.

That she’d come twice meant she’d thoroughly lost the argument, and it was hard to tell who was more satisfied. Rukia didn’t even give him shit for making the marks visible over her clothes; she was a downright saint.

Ichigo’s cheeks flush, and there’s a hint of shame in his scent, and. _Ah._

“Hey. _I’m_ not mad,” she soothes.

And then, finally, he snickers. “I’ve never met anyone who could be, in a bathtub full of bubbles.” But the tick between his brows looks a little smoother. “Water okay?”

“Perfect,” she replies, and then watches him nod and get up from his perch at the lip of the tub. “You’re not coming in?”

How he still manages to look embarrassed and shy after what they’ve been doing for the past two days is beyond her, but he does it. Shaking his head, Ichigo says, “I’m good with the shower, besides I gotta get the room cleaned. Want something to eat later? I’ll order in.”

“Mmm, that sounds good,” she says, and unashamedly watches him stroll towards the handles for the overhead rain-shower, the little dimples at the small of his back winking with his strides.

There’s no self-consciousness when he removes the boxers he’d put on earlier to run her bath; not that he has any reason to be self-conscious. Besides all the sex they’ve been having, Ichigo’s a perfect specimen of alpha physique: broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, tall, strong, and big. In every department.

Rukia muffles her giggle, something completely unnecessary when Ichigo’s shower starts running; the sound echoing musically along the walls.

The entire bathroom is tiled – divided by a glass wall where the vanity and toilet are – with nothing separating the bathtub and shower except for the distance between the two. 

And it’s the first time Rukia’s really thought about it, but Ichigo’s got a nice place, and no roommates to boot. She’d wonder about that, maybe even ask him later, but then she gets distracted by the way he tilts his head to the spray, muscles rippling and bunching distractingly as he showers the last of his rut off.

Beneath the trickling rain, Ichigo looks like he’s been dipped in gold, the contrast of cool water and warm skin obvious in the taut pull of his muscles, and the pools that glitter in his eyes, bleeding into his hair.

It’s like he’d been touched by Midas himself, and given life.

Alphas aren’t typically seen as beautiful, but Ichigo is.

Not for the first time, Rukia wonders what he’d seen in her that night at the Sand Dollar. Why he’d approached; why he’d picked her when Inoue –

The questions are fleeting. The only way she’ll get those answers is to ask them, and Rukia’s learned young not to set herself up for disappointment. It’s worth enough that she’s here, that she’s had him.

Right now, is enough.

The bathroom door is peeled open, Ichigo’s shower done sometime during her contemplations. Framed by the hallway beyond, he’s got a towel around his waist, and another looped around his neck; he leaves her without a word or a glance back.

Rukia decides to soak in the tub, long enough for her fingers to prune and to set her own mind at ease that these past few days were exactly what she’d wanted and that it was really nothing more than that.

She had told Ichigo so herself.

Stubbornly, she shakes her head.

Hearing movement in the kitchen, Rukia slips into his room unnoticed and gets dressed.

Sometime since his shower – or perhaps hers, before she’d gotten into the bath – Ichigo had set it to rights: thrown out all the condoms and tissues and protein bar wrappers, spirited away the jugs of water and opened the windows to air the room. He’d changed the sheets and pillow covers too, making the bed with not a crease out of place. She hadn’t expected it to be so precise, every edge and corner in alignment, but then again, Rukia doesn’t really know him all that well anyway, does she?

The vibration of her phone provides some much-needed distraction, and doing her best to put her strange melancholy out of her mind, is almost relieved when she picks it up to Rangiku’s dire declaration, _“We have a situation.”_

“What do y-”

“Your mom is here and she’s killing my buzz!”

Wedging her phone between her shoulder and her ear, and stooping to put on her shoes, Rukia mutters, “Oh, god.”

“It’s bad, Ru-chan. She’s on the warpath, and can you _believe_ she’s blaming me for your wayward behavior? _Tragic_ ,” Rangiku sighs. Then, noticeably chipper, “How was it, by the way, they treat you good?” And Rukia doesn’t have to be on video call with her to see the way her eyebrows are wiggling suggestively.

“Great,” she says, _a little too great, honestly_. “Is my mother still at the apartment?”

Sounding unconcerned for all the seriousness with which she’d made the call in the first place, Rangiku dismisses, “Yeah, Inoue’s got it handled.”

 _Yes, of course_ , Rukia thinks, trying not to grimace as she opens Ichigo’s bedroom door, “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Gotcha,” she chirps before ringing off.

In the kitchen, over an open box of pizza, balancing a plate and trying to angle the television remote just right to change the channel because that was a thing, Ichigo raises a brow. The living room couch has blankets, the television is set on the sitcom they’d been watching a few hours ago, and all is ready for his return to his normal life before Rukia had stormed into it.

She tries not to look either too relieved or too uneasy as she says, “I gotta go.”

Something flickers across his face as he echoes, “Right.”

“Uh, thanks for you know. All. That.” Oh god, the entire time they’ve been all up in each other, and she chooses now to be awkward. “But my mother’s at the apartment and -”

“Have to face the music, I’m guessing,” Ichigo puts together.

“Right.”

“Thanks for,” his smile is a little twisted, half up at the corner as he mimics, “all that.” Then, “Pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” Rukia accepts the slice on his plate gratefully before raising it in a mock toast, “Thanks! I’ll show myself out.”

And that had been. Easy.

Which is good.

As it should be.

And once she gets back to the apartment, her mother is furious. As she should be.

All is right with the world.

“And now you’re off _rutting_?” her mother repeats, in the same tone one would use for say, drug muling.

In the kitchen, her housemates are trying not to laugh. Rangiku has to open the top freezer portion of their fridge and physically put her head inside it to get even close to stopping herself from bursting into hysterics.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is! Rukia,” her mother begins like she’s going to drop some Very Serious Truths, “your status as an omega is only as covetous as your virtue and now -”

“I’m gonna stop you right there: My worth is not dependent on my virginity, and if that were the case, you and your matchmaker are three years too late.”

Rukia wants her mother’s scandalized face on a decorative mug. It would mean the world to her. Maybe she’ll get a dozen made and have it be the Organization of Omega Rights’ new logo.

“My matchmaker, as you say, has quit because of this…debacle!” Like that hadn’t been a hope Rukia’s been harboring. With a ruffle of her skirts, her mother stands – not much taller than Rukia herself, if not more slight in build – and says with a sigh, “I suppose we must move with the times.”

And is it possible?

A revelation?

A moment of clarity?

_A single rational thought?_

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad you -”

“That matchmaker was quite stuffy wasn’t she? Nonetheless, I did have to make my personal apologies to your date,” and at that, her mother sends her a warning look that Rukia doesn’t feel because her stomach feels as if it’s dropped into her feet. Rukia doesn’t even feel her mother’s version of a comforting pat on the back, “Ah, well, at least two of the candidates were more than happy to keep their appointment to see you.”

No.

No, evidently not.

“Honestly, Rukia, you’re worth so much more than a one-night stand or being just a _rut_ partner,” she crinkles her nose distastefully. “Why, that first alpha had such an impressive resume and his family’s property portfolio was -”

“Mother.”

She sighs again, aggrieved. “Try. That’s all I ask.” Then, like the entire concept isn’t outdated as a whole, she adds, “We won’t even make you marry any of them.” And, “Think of it as networking.” And for Rukia’s mother, it really is the nicest way to put things.

“And dear,” her mother adds, her expression pinched. “Perhaps another shower? Your…friend was quite thorough with dousing you, even I can smell it.”

At that Inoue blushes, but Tatsuki has sunk behind the counter to choke, and Rangiku is openly sobbing into their frozen foodstuffs. It’s not pleasant.

Rukia sighs.

She supposes things could be worse.


	8. Chapter 8

The plus side of Ichigo being. Thorough. Was that Rukia had managed to wrangle a grace period from the dates her mother had managed to secure. Which was necessary given how tender she felt. She wasn’t quite limping but. It was a pretty close thing.

Tatsuki wouldn’t stop laughing at her while Rangiku cooed, “Baby’s first rut!” and been a total asshole about it before insisting on hearing _all the details_.

Inoue, surprisingly and awfully enough, is the nicest about the situation. She’d given Rukia a muscle relaxant gel to use with instructions to let it soak in for twenty minutes before taking a hot shower to get rid of it, since they didn’t have a tub for Rukia to soak in.

Which in hindsight, explains why Ichigo had run her one. Amused, Rukia wonders if he’d looked up how to take care of an omega, and then she wonders when he’d found the time.

Inoue blushes while she’s explaining the muscle relaxant, a perfect distraction for Rukia with the way her stomach twists, as her housemate adds, “It’s pretty hard dealing with after, isn’t it?”

“Ah,” Rukia admits, and doesn’t know if she’s blushing too because this is all so mortifying or if it’s because she is actually the worst human being to exist to have shared a rut with who Inoue has declared her devotion to. “How did you…you’ve done this before?”

Inoue goes red to the roots of her hair, stuttering, “Ah-ah, just the once!” Like Rukia would judge her for it despite her current situation. Then, looking determined Inoue adds, “I wanted to make sure that maybe, if or when Kurosak-kun looks for a rut mate that I would be…good…and I…erm, well. It’s not as wholesome as my other plans.” She laughs nervously, and Rukia wants the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“Alright, spill,” Rangiku orders, sitting on the closed toilet seat on the other side of the wall separating the shower room. “Tell me everything! Who’s the alpha?”

“You don’t know him,” is Rukia’s immediate reply, practically a shout over the loud spray of water.

Rangiku scoffs. “Who says? You don’t know all the people I know, do you?”

Snickering, Rukia tilts her head to the spray, her sigh of relief muffled as the menthol diffuses over her skin. A scent that is actually familiar now that she’s thinking about it – she’d catch it on people all the time – and now, well, now she knows why.

“C’mon, give me something!” Rangiku begs, “If this is going to be a whole thing, I’ll get to live vicariously through you!”

“What, are you getting off the market?” Rukia asks which makes Rangiku laugh.

“Maybe! Gin’s an alpha too, but I mean, if you’re going _rutting_ now.” And she can practically hear the explicit implications of that that Rukia groans.

“Not you too.”

Her pout practically hangs the question, “Why not?” When Rukia chooses not to reply, her housemate insists, “C’mon, your mom’s got young, virile alphas all lined up for you, why not go for a…tasting?”

“You realize I don’t even like alphas.”

Rolling her eyes so hard that her words practically roll with it, Rangiku says, “Yes, yes. They stink, _I know_. But. You liked this one enough to rut with him. So, either, you’re experimenting and had to hold your breath the entire time you were with him. _Or_.”

“No, or,” she retorts, the pipes squeaking as she shuts the water off, parting the glass door to wave at Rangiku for her towel. “It was a one-time thing. Right time, right alpha.”

“Or you could just be attracted to alphas only in rut,” Rangiku muses.

“That’s a fetish,” Rukia scoffs.

“So, you see where I’m going with this?”

“You’re the worst.” Her muscles feel less strained, less bruised. But Rukia still feels awful. And it must show on her face because Rangiku coos again.

“Aww, he really rode you hard, huh?”

Chewing her lip, Rukia says, “What if…you did know the alpha?”

She perks up. “Oh! Is it Hisagi? He’s cute. Oh! Or Kukaku – wait, you said he. Is it Hisagi?” And before Rangiku can go through her mental Rolodex of alphas, Rukia interjects.

“No, it’s uh.” She shifts uncomfortably, then shakes her head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. It was a one-time thing.”

“Mmm you said that already, methinks the omega doth protest too much,” Rangiku tsks, and when Rukia doesn’t bite, Rangiku complains, “You can’t just dangle that in front of me and not tell me anything else!”

“He mentioned something,” Rukia finally admits.

Intrigued, Rangiku looms, “ _Oh?”_

“Temporary bonds.”

Physically deflating, she mumbles, “Oh.” Rangiku pouts. “Well, that’s not nearly as much fun.” At Rukia’s blank look, she continues, “They’re superficial at most especially if you’re strangers. What time did you guys…you know finish?”

“A couple of hours ago,” she admits, then, “but I mean, we did stuff again after the rut. But only the once.”

Rangiku’s grin is salacious, but she reins it in to say, “Well, alphas usually just get possessive if a temporary bond does form which, I mean, is par the course because you know, _alphas_. Kind of looking forward to it with Gin though…”

Rukia pinches her arm before she can get distracted, and takes stock of the damage she can see in the mirror.

“Concealer?” Rangiku offers.

“Please,” she says, even though a part of her recoils at the thought. Then, as Rangiku matches Rukia’s shade to hide the marks, Rukia asks, “Do omegas and betas feel the extent of a temporary bond?”

“Biologically? Not that I know of. But if they like each other, it's entirely possible. A temporary bond can be a step towards an actual bond.” Then, with furrowed brows, she asks, “Why, are you worried you’re attached? It’s easy to get swept away with the scents and hormones and the orgasms, there’s no shame if he was an asshole.”

“It would’ve been better if he had been.” At Rangiku’s frown, Rukia waves off. “He ran me a bath and bought me pizza.”

“Well. That’s the royal treatment. The last alpha I spent a rut with didn’t even let me shower before I left, something about _making sure everyone knew I was his, or some shit._ Let's not even get into the fact that he decided that he'd _make an exception and mate with a lowly beta like me_.” This time Rukia sees how Rangiku’s whole body rolls with her eyes. Then, “But your alpha sounds good. You sure you don’t want to keep him?”

She doesn’t give herself a second to entertain the thought as she snorts. “It would be complicated, and honestly? Way too much unnecessary pressure considering my parents are trying to marry me off.”

“Yeah,” Rangiku drags the word out, squinting to blend the foundation, “not ideal. But hey. At least you’ve got a few days grace what with that rut scent all over you.” And then something clicks, and Rangiku is looking at her with an expression like she’s seen the face of god. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Rukia fakes disinterest as she sweeps past her and out of the bathroom.

“How fortuitous!” Then, “We give Inoue shit about being calculating but _you…”_

“It worked out for the both of us,” Rukia defends through her blush, “and I told him all about it and what it is I wanted in exchange for sharing his rut. It was nothing more than a mutually beneficial, temporary arrangement.”

Which gets Rangiku to cackle, “I’m sure!”

And it is.

Mutually beneficially, that is.

And unfortunately, entirely too temporary.

Ichigo’s scent has worn off almost completely a week later, and Rukia’s sitting across another alpha and trying not to scream.

Evidently, he’d taken the news of her “tainted virtue” a little too well and saw it as an invitation to start making proposals of his own. Almost as soon as they’d met, he’d looked at her like a piece of meat and treated her like it too, and Rukia. Well. She felt like it.

Despite her mother’s own role, Rukia admits that she’d been right in some respects – she deserves more than one-night stands, or at least whatever the hell this alpha is doing. Granted, it isn’t like Rukia could be that offended, hadn’t she let Ichigo do the same thing just last week?

It was still different, of course.

She’d been attracted to Ichigo.

What she is around this alpha is. Disgusted. And with that conclusion, Rukia interrupts this alpha’s graphic and frankly, _awful_ attempts at dirty talk and says with a smile, “Alpha-san, I’ve never been drier in my life. I think my uterus literally sewed itself shut.”

His shock buys her ten seconds, and she makes use of it.

She gets up from the table, purse in hand, takes the glass of wine he’d ordered for himself but didn’t find fit for her to drink, and leaves, sipping his wine as she goes.

Rukia’s still holding the glass when the alpha snaps out of it, and slipping inside a nondescript store in the high heels her mother insisted she wear with this dress, the alpha misses her by seconds as he continues to run down the street, none the wiser.

She thinks better of heading back to the restaurant, and reconsiders calling for the town car too.

Her mother had the car pick the alpha up before the “date”, and Rukia wasn’t going to risk having to spend even another second in his presence. Which leaves her here: a bookstore with lighting just bright enough to read under but dim enough to make the place seem almost homey. The space is small, cramped with bookshelves set up like the walls of a labyrinth if indeed the store is big enough for it. Regardless, it’s the perfect place to get lost in.

Just as well, she’s not in the mood to head home.

Inoue had been near inconsolable when she’d heard – from friends of friends, evidently – that Ichigo had spent his rut with someone. The apartment smelled so potently of misery and heartbreak that Tatsuki had started smoking indoors which was actually _preferable_.

Here, there’s no tobacco or sadness clinging to her skin, just a tinge of something like…Christmas.

It’s no surprise who it’s coming from:

“Are you following me?” 

“Funny,” Ichigo drawls, rising from his haunches from where he’d been busy on a lower shelf, the sleeves of his white button-down are rolled up to his elbows – biceps bulging as he juggles several books in one hand. “I could’ve sworn you came to me; not the other way around.” He raises a brow and points at her glass with the books in his hand. “Is that wine?”

“Mmm,” she hums, tipping the glass to breathe in the smell of blackberries and licorice in a poor attempt to get the cinnamon scent of him out of her nose, before replying, “Suntory Tomi Red, 2013,” before she offers it up for him to smell, a habit she hasn’t broken from when she and Byakuya-niisama would go to a vineyard in the countryside for a weekend, away from their parents and whatever bullshit her brother deals with at work.

Still, it’s probably odd, without the context, but Ichigo doesn’t think anything of being presented with a glass to smell, just obliges, closing his eyes to take a breath, and then peering up at her. “Expensive.” His eyes are gold.

“Well, I wasn’t paying,” Rukia dismisses, taking another sip, and turning away. “Hopefully I lost him, I should really bring this glass back to the restaurant.”

“Date number two not go so well?” he teases and she smirks, raising her glass in a toast.

“I left with his wine glass and ran in here to escape him; I think that says enough.”

Ichigo hums, their shoulders brushing as Rukia finds herself being led through the stacks where the room seems to brighten, the ceiling opening up to a watercolor skylight directly beneath a raised platform of comfortable chairs. The lights from the building next door reflect in, splashing blue and red and yellow across the floor and the furniture, the designs etched into the glass spilling over her skin as she stands beneath it.

At her surprised gasp, he flashes a small smile – something that lingers shy around his mouth, in his eyes – before he’s nudging his head. “Make yourself at home.”

With a shake of her head, Rukia warns, “That’s dangerous.” Though it doesn’t stop her from picking a couch to drape herself on. “That means I could get comfortable and never leave.”

Walking away and giving her an excellent view of his thighs in those pants – and really, who knew anyone could make khakis attractive? – Ichigo muses mildly, “I should call you a cab then.”

She snorts. “Rude, why do I even like you?”

“Because I look good in these pants,” he deadpans.

And Rukia’s so surprised she bursts out laughing.


	9. Chapter 9

Apparently, Ichigo hadn't been teasing about looking good in his uniform. Almost every person who walks into the store and also happens to like guys, or is inclined towards alphas, is at least a little bit attracted to Ichigo.

Rukia isn't surprised.

She's got a pair of eyes and a decent sense of smell. Plus. She's seen him naked; has heard the noises he makes, what he smells like, what he looks like when he – _Rukia knows_.

What she didn't know is that the attention, while something Ichigo is clearly used to, doesn't actually make him any smoother with handling it. He verbally clams up with people who flirt with him, and though he manages serious nods and answers to any questions leveled his way, as soon as the conversation veers off, Ichigo. Does not handle it well.

He probably gets a pass for being an asshole about it just scowling and stalking off the way he does. A weird side-effect of being an attractive person, Rukia thinks.

No doubt being an alpha helps too – no one's really surprised when they're dicks. But. Rukia. Has a better sense of Ichigo than the average stranger, and realizes, "You're shy."

"I picked you up from a bar," Ichigo deadpans.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you're not shy," Rukia points out smartly. Though, now it does make sense why he avoids Inoue.

Perfect omega as she is, he's probably afraid to embarrass himself.

Even if Inoue had made a fool of herself at the Sand Dollar last week, that hadn't been a normal occurrence for her at all. Something most people know given Inoue's popularity on campus, and her generally full social calendar, all of which avoids the involvement of alcohol even when Inoue's just relaxing with Rukia and their two housemates on the terrace.

Maybe that was why Inoue wanted to look like she needed to be rescued?

It was always easier to approach someone when you had a reason to, and getting to play hero is a pretty big reason. Never mind that it's as cliché as a trope as omega romance novels go.

Now that Rukia's seen Ichigo around other people, though, she can't hold his avoidance of Inoue against him.

It's uncomfortable enough dealing with someone as desirable as Inoue was as an omega, but to have her be such a disaster that night might have just scared Ichigo off approaching her at all. If only because of how…sad, she looked.

A combination of sad people and shy people do not make an easy social interaction, Rukia decides. It's totally understandable that he'd avoided Inoue then.

And he probably hadn't approached Inoue before that because he didn't know that she liked him.

Rukia wonders that he knew if that would make it easier for him.

Still, even with the evidence of his red face and the way his gaze is pointedly avoiding the lingering touches and meaningful eye contact of the last customers, Ichigo scoffs because Rukia's starting to learn that he just can't ever let her be right.

"Oh c'mon, you can tell me," she teases, setting aside her wine glass and resting her forearms on her thighs as she leans towards where he was coming back from within the labyrinth, locking up one of the other entrances Rukia hadn't seen.

Stubbornly though, he ignores her, stalking off with another handful of books he'd collected, and dropping them off on the counter next to the cash register. "I'm not shy."

"That wasn't an invitation to lie to me instead." The look he sends her is unimpressed, but still, she prods, "Are you just grumpy, is that it? You don't do innuendo and flirtatious tête-à-têtes?"

"Not if I'm not interested," he eventually replies, getting up on the platform to organize the coffee-table books on the center table in front of her.

She arches her brows. "But do you know how to?"

Then, Ichigo pauses, looks her in the face and repeats, "Again, I picked you up at a bar."

"I'm just saying, maybe it was easier to approach me because…" she pauses to think of a nice way to phrase _I'm not an intimidating prospect and would be easier to talk to and flirt with in comparison to Inoue._ But –

"Are you trying to imply that I _wasn't interested_ in you the first time we met?" And Ichigo asks the question in such a way that Rukia feels like the answer is so obvious it's stupid that she'd even asked. Which. Fine, paired with the fact that they'd traded orgasms in the bathroom of a bar, and then spent his heat together, the attraction was clearly present and reciprocal but. Still. _Rude._

"I'm just saying – I'm…more approachable than other options," she finally decides. _A typical, delicate omega who's pretty enough. But also. Not too unattainable. Not like other girls and omegas. Like Inoue._

An implication that makes Ichigo snort. "I saw you scare a beta off by just looking at him. What part of that is approachable?"

She makes a good enough " _beats me"_ expression as she defends, "I don't know what you're into. You might like that humiliation, dirty talk thing; I'm not kinkshaming."

"Right," he drawls, straightening from where he'd been busy cleaning up to level her with a look that would be intimidating if maybe Rukia hadn't seen all the ways he could come, or know that she could be the one to reduce him to it. Which. Bad brain. Stop it.

Ichigo, with no idea where her thoughts are straying, continues, "And what exactly makes you think I'm into that?"

"Nothing," Rukia says, "I'm just saying that if you are, I wouldn't deprive you if you'd asked for it." Then at the thought, she winces. "Though, seriously, if you are, thanks for _not_ asking because I have zero experience with dirty talk. And after this date, I'm pretty sure it isn't my thing."

Ichigo exhales a breath that sounds like a snicker. "It was so bad you had to run out with the wine?"

"Mmm," she hums noncommittedly. "It was really good wine though."

"And how drunk are you right now?"

At that, it's her turn to snort. Spending weekends in vineyards gave her alcohol tolerance high enough to drink people twice her size under the table. Even with how good this wine had been, Rukia's had stronger. Arching her neck to maintain eye contact as he approaches, she replies with a smirk, "Not at all."

"Then let me change your mind."

She raises her brows. "About being drunk or -"

"What kind of things did your date want to do with you?" Ichigo interjects so abruptly that at first she's just blinking at him, and with his answering expression patient, Rukia replies, "The usual trite crap that I assume is supposed to sound sexy?"

Somehow, with a straight face, Ichigo continues to ask, "Like he would put you over his knees or put you on yours?"

She pops a brow, as if he even needed to ask that, and with his smirk, she knew it, before Ichigo's drawling, "He missed out, getting on my knees for you was certainly an experience."

And.

That's just.

"That's not fair," Rukia hastens to say over a blush that's. God, is she already slick? Jesus.

He shrugs, oblivious; his expression conveying _"meh, you're probably right"_ before admitting, "I wouldn't mind you on yours either, if that's what you wanted, but then again I'm very picky when it comes to you so I don't think I can comment."

And even though there's still a respectable distance between them, Rukia realizes that the Christmas and autumn smell of him is too obvious, too thick; potent beneath the dew of ink and dust of books. Faintly, she murmurs, "You're not wearing blockers."

"No, I'm not."

And.

Rukia doesn't get to ask why, or figure out who reaches for the other because then they're kissing; she licking into his mouth and feeding a moan onto his tongue at the syrupy sweet taste of him as he cups her cheek while she grips his shirt and pulls him on top of her and –

Uh.

"Wait – wait, are we really – are really going to do this at your place of employment?" The store's closed and they're the only ones around, but still, Ichigo can't really –

"Was the bathroom a better option?" he poses, the arch of his brow matching the smothering, suffusing note of something tart, something nervous, along the line of caramel and cinnamon in his scent. And. Is contact high a thing with scent? Because –

"You're such a bad influence," Rukia huffs though even to her own ears it sounds like a whine, and it gets muffled by his kiss anyway so it really doesn't matter.

She's pulled him fully onto her lap, the skirt of her dress flimsy and useless as she makes room for him; his hand sliding along her bare leg and up her thigh as his tongue darts past her lips.

His groan reverberates from his chest onto hers as he settles between her legs, thickening in his khakis; the heat of him melting into her core as she digs her fingers into his shirt, clumsily undoing buttons as his hands settle: one tracing her naked hip now that he'd rolled her underwear out of the way of it, the other cupping her breast and soothing it over where her nipple is valiantly peaking for attention through the conservative bra she'd chosen to wear that day.

And – oh, god, she definitely didn't think she was gonna have sex today –

"What's wrong?" Ichigo asks against her neck, nipping and licking at the sensitive skin there – sharp enough to feel, shallow enough not to leave a mark.

"I wasn't – prepared for this," translation: _my underwear is_ not _sexy, holy shit._

His kisses grow less heated until he's pressing them gently instead like he's comforting her. "Do you want to stop?"

"If you could look away while I remove my not-attractive underwear then -" Rukia's squeak is loud as he bites down, his rough voice a rumble against her skin, "That's why?"

And somehow _that_ makes her blush. "Uh…well."

"Tch," Ichigo scoffs, the hand that had been cupping her breast slides around her back to get at the zipper of her dress. "You won't be wearing them for long, anyway." And pulling away just enough to flash his teeth, golden eyes smoldering, he offers teasingly, "I can close my eyes if it'll make you feel better, though?"

"You're the worst," she decides with a gusty exhale, hitching her leg to brush her knee against the firmness of his dick through his pants just to hear him muffle a curse. "I can't believe I'm going to let you fuck me on this couch."

"Well, you don't have to," he says obligingly, like it wouldn't hurt him at all to be deprived of this, even if his body and scent say otherwise.

Her next exhale is a chuckle, and her response a stubborn, "No, I'm gonna."

Ichigo is apparently very on board with this plan.

Her gasp is sharp as he flips her over, knees pressed against the couch as he traces her spine with his teeth, each vertebra exposed by the zipper he's sliding down, bra flicked off and out of his way as he goes, not sparing a second to think about the frayed material at the clasps of it. His hips rock with hers, the head of his clothed cock grazing and teasing at her center through her underwear until the zipper gets to the base of her spine, and he's withdrawn almost entirely.

His breathing is harsh; his scent simmering.

Thrusting uselessly against the couch, Rukia groans, "Why'd you – why'd you stop?"

"Turn over."

"Can't you…? You put me in this position!"

"Had to get your dress off," he states easily like they're talking about the right way to open a "push only" door, and she can hear the way his words are tinged with a smirk. "Unless you just like being manhandled. Do you, Rukia?"

"You're such an asshole," she curses, and grudgingly raises on her hands to rearrange herself before he flips her over again.

And damn him. She does like being manhandled.

Once she's reoriented herself, she realizes that she's in nothing but her soaked panties and, bafflingly enough, her heels still on – the buckle at the ankle keeping them on her feet. And Ichigo only has his shirt off and his belt still hanging in the loops, and just. Staring at her.

His gaze is so intent, so heated that Rukia feels it like a physical touch, and shivers.

"What?" she wants to snap, but it comes out in a soft, breathy whisper.

In the dark, broken only by the watery colors of the skylight above them; staining their skins in pale, abstract shades of blues and yellows; they are like art in their intimate intertwining.

Murmured rough and low in the quiet of their shared breathing, the rumblings of their heartbeats, Ichigo recites, " _I lust for your smile, spread open like an old flower, and your eyes, blue moons, and your chin, ever stubborn…And I don't know if we belong together or apart, except that my soul lingers over the skin of you."_

And-and.

Rukia doesn't think he quite understands the concept of dirty talking but.

She's really not going to complain about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo's "dirty talking" from Anne Saxton's "Waking Alone".


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot in your porn? Likelier than you think!

Rukia totters on her heels, as she shuts the door behind her, and only once it's locked, does she lean against it and sigh.

Her legs are still shaky, and even though the walk to the apartment had been a good ten minutes and the very early morning had been crisp, Rukia still feels heated beneath her skin. Sex should not leave her feeling like this, should it?

Granted, her sample size consists of only two people but.

“You’re home late.”

She startles, not realizing she wasn’t alone, and finds Tatsuki holding the milk – like she was going to drink it straight from the carton. But its Rukia who looks away, stuttering, “Ah, yeah…” as if she hadn’t just caught her housemate violating house rule number 13 which is about as big as an infraction as putting the carton back even though it’s empty – Rangiku’s the guiltiest of that offense.

“Your date go well then?” Tatsuki asks absently.

And it would’ve been easy to just go with that excuse, but all Rukia is getting is flashbacks of Ichigo driving into her from above; damp fringe of hair plastered against his forehead, gold eyes turning black beneath half-lidded eyes before he’d gasped, and –

“No, I…”

That startles Tatsuki a little. “No?”

“I met up with someone else. After.” Rukia swallows; tries to shake away the image seared behind her eyelids and walks to her room to escape.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tatsuki echoes, and while she isn’t as awful as Rangiku about this kind of stuff, she still looks plenty entertained. Taking a loud sniff of the air, she rolls her eyes fondly and says, “You can take the shower first then.”

“You just get back?” Rukia asks, distracted.

“Mmm,” she says, suddenly very interested in the milk before chugging. It doesn’t take her long to finish the carton, by the time Rukia has opened the door to her room, Tatsuki is saying in a mumble, “Inoue’s going into heat.” Her scent is acrid even beneath the stale cigarette smoke that’s become a staple in her scent, and there’s something about her voice too – distant, quiet – none of the things Tatsuki usually is.

And. That’s.

“Are you…okay?”

Tatsuki’s gaze flickers, her expression pained until its wiped clean, and she’s forcing a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She clears her throat. “Could you – could you get her notes for the next few days? I know you guys aren’t in the same faculty or anything but some of your classes overlap, right?”

“Right,” Rukia says, though, it’s something Tatsuki doesn’t even have to ask. It’s how Rukia even knows Inoue to begin with – the shared classes, and. Tatsuki, of course.

Rukia had known Tatsuki since freshmen year of college when they’d been paired together for the scavenger hunt where they’d both found Rangiku hiding on the roof with the grand prize, eating chips and drinking box wine as she watched the rest of their year-mates run around like headless chickens.

She’d taken comfort in how they’d weirdly fit together, all carefree, full of shit and unapologetic about it, Tatsuki especially because, as she'd told both Rukia and Rangiku, _"All my friends growing up had been guys. It's cool to have girlfriends for once."_

And then Rukia’s taken back to a year ago when Tatsuki had looked just as she does now: How Tatsuki had apparently met someone, had seemed happy, had seemed. In love.

How Rangiku would tease that the alpha of the house was going to be mated soon, elbowing Rukia about how they’d be getting a mate-mom to take care of them for the rest of their university careers.

Then, that teasing had abruptly stopped when the rumor mill around campus had gone crazy because Inoue Orihime, omega that she was, hadn’t experienced her first heat yet – was a late bloomer, if you could believe it – and _it_ had finally happened.

Tatsuki had disappeared for a week, didn’t say anything to Rangiku or Rukia, and then a few months later, Tatsuki was bringing Inoue to the apartment to stay with them for a little before Inoue just didn’t _leave_ at all and – Between Tatsuki’s unexplained disappearance, and Inoue’s steady move into the apartment; Rukia had just. Forgotten. Because by the time Tatsuki was home, she’d been. Withdrawn. Spacey. And Rukia had just assumed whoever Tatsuki had her sights on had let her down, that she just wasn’t in love anymore and was hurting for it. But.

_“Ah-ah, just the once,”_ Inoue had said.

And Rukia. She hadn’t even considered. Not being in love anymore wasn’t Tatsuki’s problem, quite the opposite.

“Oh, Tatsuki,” she murmurs.

“Don’t, just. Don’t.” Her voice is firm despite the counter she’s using to hold herself up. “I’m not. I’m not going to do it again. I learned my lesson the first time.”

And Rukia hears Inoue’s sheepish explanation, _“I wanted to make sure that maybe, if or when Kurosak-kun looks for a rut mate that I would be good.”_

Rukia wants to say she’s sorry, but what good is that? Tatsuki’s never liked pity, and being sorry doesn’t change anything, doesn’t take it back. So, instead, she asks, “Why did you…ask Inoue to stay with us back then?”

“Because she was going to get evicted and she had no place to go and because,” Tatsuki takes a breath, chokes, “because I’m an idiot.”

Rukia makes to approach, to comfort and hug her, but Tatsuki just shakes her head and sticks her arm out. “I appreciate the sentiment but uh…you smell like your alpha and it’s – it’s putting me off.” Right, of course. Rukia blushes.

“Right, I should – if I shower?”

At that, she laughs but it sounds like a sob, and god. It’s awful.

“Right,” Rukia decides, “I’ll be right back.”

She calls Rangiku as she gathers her toiletries and heads for the bathroom, her voice echoing against the tile, “Come home.”

Even drowsy from sleep, there’s a spike of concern that pitches her voice, “What, why?”

And Rangiku must’ve known. She has to have had. They couldn’t _both_ have been terrible friends to Tatsuki. Curtly, Rukia replies, “Inoue’s in heat.”

It only takes a beat before there’s the sound of rustling, Gin’s voice a tinny in the background, a worried, “What’s wrong?” before Rangiku is replying to Rukia, “I’m on my way.” And putting the call down.

Even though she tries her best to make her shower quick, Ichigo hadn’t had a condom with him at the store and well – Rukia knew the male alpha payload was _a lot_ , but it really didn’t do the reality justice. She’s pretty sure she can still feel his spent on her skin, but tries to cover it up with a liberal application of scent blockers and Rangiku’s frilly fruit cocktail body wash. It does the job decently enough.

Fortunately, Tatsuki’s taken up smoking again. She’s got the living room window open, sitting on the stool meant for the breakfast nook, and chain-smoking.

The shield of ash and smoke is almost comforting.

Rangiku arrives just as Rukia joins Tatsuki at the other window, leaning against the sill and hoping the wind will carry Ichigo’s smell and the scent of sex off her so it doesn’t agitate Tatsuki any more than she already is. It’s unnecessary.

Without a shower, the result of Rangiku’s _activities_ are fresh, and both Rukia and Tatsuki’s noses crinkle.

Less riled up now that she’s smoked a few though, Tatsuki doesn’t chase Rangiku away.

Stealing a cigarette from one of the cartons on the coffee-table, bought retroactively for this very moment, evidentially; Rangiku settles herself by Rukia’s post at the other window, lights up, fills her lungs, and exhales smoke.

For a while there’s nothing but the three of them sitting in the early morning darkness, before, Rukia asks, “What now?”

Tatsuki exhales. “We take turns watching her.”

“Like fuck,” Rangiku spits, “after everything she’s done to you. We’re leaving her at the health center.”

“She’s never been,” is Tatsuki’s flat response.

“Well then, it’ll be a new experience for her,” Rangiku declares, but Tatsuki just huffs out a breath; grudging, unhappy.

Which is when a thought occurs to Rukia, “Are you…in rut?” And that question gets Rangiku to straighten, tensing up in preparation for the worst. But.

“No,” and though it should be a relief from the look Rukia and Rangiku exchange they both catch the bitterness in that single word.

Tentatively, Rukia continues to ask, “So you were…last time?”

“In rut while she was in heat? Yeah, we were.” And then Tatsuki’s laughing that awful laugh again. “I’m so stupid.”

“You are not,” is Rukia’s immediate reply with Rangiku adjourning, “Life’s just fucked, is what it is.”

“I really thought it was it the real thing, you know – coincidences like that only happen with true mates and -” She’s shaking her head, sucking the cigarette between her lips viciously. Her next words slurred by the smoke that escapes, “God, I was so happy. I should’ve known it was bullshit when she didn’t want to sleep with me after our mating cycle was over.” Tatsuki snorts. “I _should’ve_ known when she started actually _telling_ me her plans about how she’d meet Ichigo.”

And now that Rukia knows that, she isn’t surprised that Inoue’s plans have always failed so abysmally.

“Did you bond though?” Rangiku asks.

“Doctor said it was temporary,” Tatsuki exhales. “Put it down to too high expectations and too much knotting.”

Which brings Ichigo to mind because:

_“How’d you know about the temporary bond then?”_

_“Friend,” he’d answered, “She’d said she didn’t want her rut partner to leave. Went crazy for a few hours trying to get them back before she went through bond rejection.”_

And that _can’t_ just be a coincidence, could it?

With a wan smile, Tatsuki adds, “Told you I was stupid.” Then, almost to herself, she mumbles, “Orihime didn’t even feel it. The bond. I asked her and she just.” Tatsuki cuts herself off, shakes her head. “And I’m still here, a year later, hoping that she’ll change her mind.” Then she’s muttering angrily, “ _I’m so stupid._ ”

“Stupid was letting her stay with us after what happened,” Rukia corrects crossly. “Why did you even… _how did this happen_?”

Her smile is wan. “Like I said, _stupid_.” Then, “We’re from the same town and went to the same school since kindergarten. She was nice enough, but I’d never hung around her, and she didn’t seem interested in me at all. Then, almost as soon as we all hit puberty and presented, rumors went around that she was infatuated with Ichigo, and I just. Never gave her the time of day, afterward.”

“Wait, what does Ichigo have to do with anything?” Rangiku asks, frowning.

And to that, Tatsuki shrugs, flicking the accumulated ash off the end of her cigarette. “We were best friends; around town they’d point at us and say _never seen one without the other_. Folks would tease that we’d probably be mates when we were older, and back then, we’d argue over who’d present as the omega and who would be the alpha, just for the hell of it. Of course, that line of questioning ended pretty quickly because we’d always known we weren’t attracted to one another. Like _at all_. But everyone knew how close we were, Orihime included.”

“Which is why you stayed away from her,” Rukia supplies in understanding.

Tatsuki shrugs like that had been a thought that occurred once, but. Like she’d said, Inoue didn’t seem interested in her before.

“So,” Rangiku trails, “how did _this_ happen then?”

Tatsuki squishes her cigarette and just as quickly replaces it. She takes a puff, then two. “Don’t know how she found me on campus, but she did. She’d be nice, she’d sit with me at lunch, she’d walk with me to class when she could. She was just. Nice. After I’d loosened up around her, she started telling me about the rumors in school, how it was all wrong. How it had just been a fun game she played with the other omegas because Ichigo was this hotshot alpha now, and that she’d never _really_ liked him that much. After all, she didn’t know him.”

And it’s easy enough to put together the rest – that Inoue had managed to convince Tatsuki to tell her about Ichigo – bit by bit. The same tactic she’d used to move in – one piece of clothing, one textbook, one box of her things at a time.

“Omega scheming.” Tatsuki concludes with a dark chuckle. “Good thing I met you before letting her in, Kuchiki, otherwise I’d be suspicious of every omega I’d ever meet.”

And she means it as a compliment but. Rangiku squeezes Rukia’s shoulder, and Rukia shakes her head, unable to stop the words from coming, “I’m sorry.”

Eventually, Tatsuki sighs. “I know.”

“Now that we’re all caught up,” Rangiku begins, “it still doesn’t change the facts here: unless one of us spends her heat with her, we’re not going to get a moment of peace especially since her one and only heat was spent getting knotted.” The look she throws Tatsuki’s way isn’t quite accusing but clearly, she hadn’t approved of the idea.

Their housemate brushes this off. “That’s why I’m saying we should all just…pitch in,” Tatsuki says, and it pains her and hurts her, but she still loves Inoue and –

Rangiku maintains firmly, “I say nay to that plan.” And then they’re both looking at Rukia as a deciding vote which is so many levels of unfair, and not in the fun way.

Somehow, some way, the universe has found a way to punish her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my best attempts I couldn't finish this story before my self imposed deadline - this story has spiraled ya'll - I'm almost at 30k and it's not done.
> 
> I don't know when I'll get the time to write as I've become used to doing, but the work-study opportunity I'm starting is really important so between that and my not great mental health, I don't want to make promises I can't keep. In saying that, despite being a few chapters ahead, I'll hold off posting and lay off daily updates just to maintain a buffer and keep the pressure off a little.
> 
> The next chapter will probably be next week, and hopefully, I can get a weekly schedule going.


	11. Chapter 11

Annoyingly enough, Rukia understands where they're both coming from.

Rangiku's done a great job keeping her own feelings under wraps about Inoue for as long as she has, keeping a large portion of her comments to herself on top of that. Likely for Tatsuki's sake, but. Tatsuki still looks like she's been split open and left bleeding on the side-walk, and Rukia can't just. _Leave her like that._

With a squeeze of her temples, Rukia sighs. "Look, if Inoue stays here for her heat we'll need to lock her in the apartment, and you – you can't be here," she directs to Tatsuki who clamps her jaw against the reflex to argue and grudgingly nods.

Rangiku on the other hand, scowls, crossing her arms stubbornly. "Well, I'm not staying here for it."

"Fine, that's…it's fine, I'll watch her. I've done it enough times for some of the omegas at the chapter. If anything, I can ask someone from there to watch her when I'm not around." It's the best solution they have, and if this is what Rukia gets for getting entangled with Ichigo. Well.

Both Tatsuki and Rangiku leave less than an hour later.

Though not before Rangiku pulls Rukia aside. "Is this some toxic omega solidarity thing you need to get talked out of? Just say the word. I know I'm a beta and I might not _get_ it, but I can put up a pretty good argument."

"It's not, and you don't need to," Rukia says, and she doesn't know how her housemate does it, but she seems to read something else in those words.

With narrowed eyes, Rangiku says, "Right" Even though it's clearly not, and her eyes say _we'll talk about this later_ like Rukia is being held hostage and one blink will make Rangiku suck it up and stay with her.

Rukia doesn't know if that's what she wants.

Nonetheless, with an overnight packed, and Gin waiting for her outside, Rangiku leaves while Tatsuki exchanges words with someone on the phone.

Rukia's trying not to pay attention out of politeness; busy as she is firing off texts to some chapter members to sort out logistics for the next few days, but she hears Tatsuki's defeat nonetheless, "I know. I know. _You told me so._ " Before she's growling, "I dare you to say that to my face, Kurosaki."

And – no. Rukia isn't. She's not going to think about him right now.

Certainly not how her day has taken the strangest turn she's ever experienced it's a damn miracle she isn't getting whiplash right now.

Nor the fact that Tatsuki's slinging her bag over her shoulder a moment later, phone still pressed against her ear as she goads Ichigo into a fight, a distracted wave goodbye Rukia's way.

And.

Rukia isn't surprised when she sees Tatsuki the next day; breathing a little funny, ribs probably bruised.

The alpha isn't in rut so her healing factor hasn't increased, but the common outlet for most alphas' is to get into a fight. They're all certainly built for it, being stronger and more durable than both betas and omegas, a pesky little thing like whether they've got the ability to heal as fast as they need to is nothing on them. Still.

"I asked him to," Tatsuki claims, her smile still wrong around the edges. "Inoue's at least got good taste in alphas, Ichigo's a real gentleman. Though, I at least get _some_ of the credit for that."

"Tatsuki," Rukia sighs.

"Relax," her housemate says the same way in return, "I'm fine. Really. I just. Had to work through some things. You know, violently." With a flash of teeth, she adds, "Frankly, you should see him."

Rukia doesn't know what to say to that so she doesn't say anything. Not that Tatsuki would really expect her to have anything to say, really, where Ichigo is concerned. As far as she knows, Rukia doesn't even know what Ichigo looks like outside of Inoue's fantasies.

Speaking of, "How is she?" Tatsuki finally asks.

"Managing," Rukia chooses to say which is a very _nice_ way of putting it, and also not a lie that Tatsuki can call her out on.

At Inoue's age, it should've been easy to manage.

Most omegas who aren't interested in experiencing their heat with someone in a sexual way, or just don't have anyone to share a heat with, are content enough to sate their urges with the desire to just be held and doted on.

But with Inoue only starting her heat last year, and it being her first of the year instead of the typical three like the majority of people her age, she's biologically behind. Inoue lacks both the control and the foresight of preparing for her heat on her own, no doubt relying on Tatsuki entirely to take care of her the first time – and this time too. Rukia resolutely doesn't think about how she'd dug her nails into her palm when Inoue had all but admitted that that had been the extent of her plan this year. Rukia's anger on Tatsuki's behalf threatening to boil over before Rukia had turned abruptly away and left Inoue with Isane, one of the omegas from the chapter.

The last thing Rukia heard before she'd left the apartment had been Inoue's whimpers of, _"Kurosaki-kun_ " of all people, and. God, _it's unfuckingbelievable._

"How could you even still…like her?" Rukia asks, and though it's probably a rude question, Tatsuki seems resigned to it.

"Because outside of her Ichigo obsession, and her attempts to be his omega. She's…a decent person." Rukia doesn't mean to scoff, but it just makes Tatsuki snicker. "Trust me, I know. It's probably the stupid bond still giving me grief."

"Is it really the bond though?" Rukia asks, doubtfully.

"Some part of it," Tatsuki shrugs. "It's hard to tell where the hormones end and actual feelings begin." It probably doesn't help that she's been living with Inoue this whole time, taking care of her the way she has. Tatsuki's basically been Inoue's alpha, in every way but the mated kind, the kind that Tatsuki still seems to want after spending their heat cycles together. Not that Tatsuki can really be to blamed for this. Biology's a bitch.

Rukia sighs. "You really know how to get yourself in a mess, don't you?" Which is ironic coming from her but.

"I'll get over it."

"It's already been a year," Rukia points out as gently as she can. "She should move out."

"She should but not now," Tatsuki decides. "She's really going through it, you know, financially. Once it's better, I'll tell her myself."

Rukia nods, only half believing it, but not wanting to say anything about it. Although, "Rangiku and I will be there when you do." And a part of her is hoping it'll be a whole _Thing_ because her gums fucking _itch_ to bare and bite and fight in a way that definitely isn't _omega,_ but Rukia's never really cared for the stereotypes surrounding her second gender anyway.

Brushing Rukia's shoulder affectionately with her own though, Tatsuki's smile is a little more real. "I know, thanks nerd." Stepping ahead to push open the door of the coffee shop, Tatsuki asks, "Table or order?"

"Order," Rukia decides, "you probably need to sit down anyway." Plus, Rukia still feels pretty agitated about Inoue, it's probably best to expend as much energy as possible.

"Pft," Tatsuki scoffs. "Like I said, you should see Ichi – oh hey, look who the cat dragged in." And she's smirking over Rukia's shoulder when Ichigo's voice follows right after to scoff in return.

"It's like you want to get into another fight," he says.

"You say it like I don't," Tatsuki is quick to retort, and looping an arm around Rukia's shoulders, she forces Rukia to turn and face him, and –

She's gaping, "Tatsuki was not kidding about what she did to your face."

He's got a black eye and a butterfly bandage over the arch of the opposing cheek which only serves to make him look as dangerous and unapproachable as the air he gives off, layered with a scent that radiates disinterest and casual disgruntlement. He looks stupidly, attractively roughish. _It just isn't right._

If he's surprised by seeing Rukia, he doesn't show it. Instead, Ichigo just scowls. "She doesn't play fair."

"Fair is for losers," Tatsuki declares. Then, "Speaking of, this loser is the famous Kurosaki Ichigo," and though the words are sarcastic and a little bit sharp, there's an undercurrent of fondness as she gestures at him. Then, with a squeeze of her arm around Rukia's shoulders. "And this is my housemate, Kuchiki Rukia. _No, you can't sleep with her_."

Rukia flushes, and fortunately, Ichigo just snorts. "Way to lean towards the stereotype, Arisawa."

"Don't think I didn't notice you _looking_ , just now," she snickers before spinning herself, and subsequently Rukia, around, and ordering, "C'mon, buy us lunch, since you're here."

"Who even says I have the time for that," he argues, following along anyway.

"Who even says we need your company once you've paid?" is Tatsuki's reply, and Rukia can see how people would've thought they'd become a thing if this is how they always are. And it must be. They're comfortable enough together that they're still arguing and trading barbs as they claim a table, though Rukia reroutes to the counter to order.

The barista, a bored-looking beta, takes Rukia's order, writing her name on both takeaway cups (one for her and one for Tatsuki) before ducking down to get the sandwiches when the customer in front of her, an alpha going by the stink, in front of her practically purrs, "Rukia, what a beautiful name."

"Thanks," she deadpans, "I got it for my birthday."

At the alpha's chuckle, Rukia doesn't quite restrain her eyeroll, but it's a near thing. Rukia exchanges an exasperated look with the barista as she passes over the sandwiches and says, "Drinks'll be done in a few."

"Thank you so much." Rukia hopes she's more welcoming to her then the alpha – just so he'll see a difference – but he doesn't seem to care, even inching closer – even _grasping her fucking wrist._

"I'm gonna be honest, I've seen you around here before," he continues and doesn't seem deterred by the fact that she's frozen beneath his fingertips. "And I've always wondered what your preferred position would be?" The way he's smirking says he hopes he's shocked her, but if anything, that rouses her, and she pulls her wrist away with a scoff, fists tightening around the sandwiches.

With her most cutting look, she says, "Standing on your face with my sharpest heels gouging out your eyes, hopefully killing you instantly. Or not." Her voice goes flat. "You deserve to die slow if you think talking to people like this is okay."

At that, he finally looks startled, face going red as the baristas – not just theirs – start to giggle amongst each other.

"I'm just saying that I think -"

"Oh, don't do that," Rukia says. "Thousands of years of evolution, and it culminating to _you_ is frankly depressing."

And before he can open his mouth, or raise a hand or god knows what else – alphas embarrassed and angry are never good combinations – Ichigo's sliding up behind her to drawl, "Playing with your food again, Rukia?"

She exhales a breath, trying to slow the adrenaline pumping in her veins, a grace she's allowed when the alpha withdraws in the presence of another alpha, though he's quick to snarl, "You should teach your omega some manners."

"Why? She's teaching you just fine," Ichigo replies mildly, and though he seems more bored than anything, standing back to chest with him, she can catch the curl of anger in his scent beneath the blockers, the slightest hint of a growl rumbling in his chest. Rukia's grip loosens.

The alpha scoffs, and turns to walk away when Ichigo warns, "You should keep your hands to yourself."

"Or what?" is the replying snarl.

"She'll cut them off," he states, and Rukia doesn't know where the impulse to smirk is, but there it is – sharp teeth, cold smile and colder eyes.

The alpha scoffs again but leaves so fast that his change slips out of his hand and clatters on the floor. He doesn't bother to pick them up.

Ichigo does though, dropping the coins into the "tip" jar, and adding his order to Rukia's before taking out his wallet.

"I can get it," she quickly dismisses, but he shakes his head.

"Consider it financial compensation for having to deal with _that_ ," he says with a flick of a glance the other alpha's way. "And three sandwiches, please."

"I've got two already."

"You've squished two already," he corrects with a smirk.

She makes a face before returning the ruined sandwiches onto the counter, bearing the brunt of the sympathetic look of her barista. Both the baristas behind the counter though, leave Rukia with Ichigo, with a shared look and an excuse of, "There are fresher sandwiches in the back" and "I'll get your drinks."

Convenient that, Rukia thinks with a sigh.

Ichigo's moved from behind her to beside her, his hip brushing hers, their elbows pressing together as they stand side by side; a parody of their first meeting.

"You really didn't have to do that," Rukia eventually says.

"No, I didn't," he admits. "You had it handled."

"I can sense a 'but' coming," she says with wary humor.

He chuckles. "There's no real 'but', it's just an alpha thing."

And yes, obviously it's wrong to stereotype alphas as jerks just as its wrong to stereotype omegas as defenseless and unable to stand up for themselves but. She thinks. Ichigo's cheeks look a little flush, and he isn't looking her in the eye, and.

Rukia blinks. "That's not what you mean."

Because.

He got protective, but instead of getting into some alpha pissing contest, he backed her up. He stood his ground with her. He supported her.

With their drinks finally given to them, Ichigo takes a sip of his coffee, as if that would hide the flush in his cheeks. _It's adorable._

"Huh." Rukia muses once the barista has drifted away again. "Maybe I will get on my knees for you."

Ichigo splutters.


	12. Chapter 12

To the surprise of no one, Rukia doesn’t get to make good on her little declaration. Not when Tatsuki tries to leave because Inoue called her, and it’s. A mess.

“You can’t.”

“But she needs me,” her housemate protests with a growl, and it says something about the seriousness of the situation that Ichigo has to hold Tatsuki back. Tatsuki’s never used her alpha aggression on Rukia before, and Rukia _is not a fan_.

“Listen to me, _no._ ”

“Kuchiki,” is the warning she gets before Tatsuki tries and fails to shove Ichigo off.

It’s a considerable endeavor.

Tatsuki may be an alpha-like Ichigo, but she’s still shorter than him, and a few pounds noticeably pounds lighter. While Rukia wouldn’t put it past Tatsuki to be able to give Ichigo a run for his money when she’s pissed, Ichigo’s not pulling any punches either.

Evidently, the protective alpha routine is still in play because there’s something about Ichigo’s entire demeanor – including the fact that’s he’s put himself between her and Tatsuki – that says he won’t let anything happen to Rukia. And while she’s flattered, and really, _she appreciates it enough to consider offering that blow job again_ now isn’t the time.

With a soft sigh, she lets herself go slack in her desperation as she pleas, “Tatsuki, _you can’t._ ”

And though she’s still struggling against Ichigo, at that, Tatsuki tries to rein herself in, whimpering, “But Orihime -”

“Inoue is fine,” Rukia says, “let me call Isane and find out what’s going on, alright?”

She huffs out a breath through her nose before reluctantly nodding.

Exchanging a look with Ichigo to confirm that he still has her, Rukia picks up her phone. It rings twice. “Everything alright?”

“I left her in the bathroom for two minutes, Rukia-san,” Isane says, haggard and out of breath. “Is Tatsuki-san coming to the apartment? Should I leave?”

“No, no, everything’s fine,” Rukia says, infusing as much calm in her voice for both Isane’s sake and for Tatsuki’s. “How’s she doing?”

“Not great,” Isane huffs. “She’s in pretty bad shape, and if she tries to get Tatsuki-san here again…I think we should get her to a health center, for both their sakes.”

She hesitates for a second, but it’s enough for Tatsuki to perk up. “Rukia,” she begins in warning, and at that, Rukia exhales, puts the phone on speaker and asks, “Is it the best decision for Inoue’s health and safety?”

“I believe so,” Isane confirms, and at that, Tatsuki looks crushed.

Resolute, Rukia nods. “I’ll meet you at the apartment in ten, and get someone from the health center to the apartment while I’m at it.”

Isane’s sigh of relief is heavy. “Thank you.”

Putting her phone back in her pocket, Rukia’s expression is contrite, her voice soft with apology, “It’s for the best, Tatsuki.”

“I know,” she mumbles and though she sounds defeated, there’s a sharp edge to her scent like a knife’s point that threatens to cut the very space it occupies. Ichigo can sense it too, hackles raised even as his voice stays level, the picture of calm, “I’ve got you, Arisiwa.”

“I know, I know,” and she’s saying the words and shaking her head as if it’ll rattle things around just right – back into place where it belongs – where she probably doesn’t feel like she’s torn to pieces because _it’s just a temporary bond, it’s just a girl that doesn’t love you like you love her,_ and Rukia thinks she’s never seen someone’s heartbreak before and doesn’t want to again.

Her whimper is quiet, “Ichigo?”

His gaze flicks to her, quick and sharp, pulled like a magnet. “Ah.”

And all Rukia can do is nod, take her things, and turn away. Though not before Ichigo spares a hand to catch her own and pull her close enough for their cheeks to brush in the barest of scent-marking to whisper, “When you get to the health center, ask for Yuzu, she’ll help.”

Rukia nods, returning the barely-there gesture of affection, and fleeing before Tatsuki can say anything more on the matter.

The day, thankfully, gets easier.

Isane had managed to get Inoue to swallow down a sedative before the call to the health center has a transport team of betas and omegas at the apartment. Leading them in is a girl with a nametag indicating her as “Yuzu”, and Rukia practically deflates in relief.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes, “Ichigo said you could help.”

For a second the girl looks surprised, and with her scent blockers, Rukia initially thinks the girl is a beta, but then there’s a wisp of pine needles and an undercurrent of _alpha_. Rukia almost recoils in surprise, but not before Yuzu sniffs her in return; her eyes brightening and her scent seeping out beneath her blockers in a wave of fresh mint. “Yes, of course! And you are?”

“Kuchiki Rukia,” she stutters in surprise. Then, “Inoue’s my housemate; I’d really appreciate it if you could help her.”

Yuzu’s almost luminous enthusiasm dims, but only to focus – her brows knitting together as she takes in what she needs to of Inoue’s state – after which, she’s nodding, “I’ve got her. Will you be coming along to fill out her paperwork, Rukia-chan?”

Despite the overly familiar address, Rukia offers a grateful smile and nods. Though, her presence, as it turns out, is unnecessary.

When they arrive at the health center, Nanao’s already filling out Inoue’s forms. Though she’s cross-legged and in her pajamas, she looks alert as ever, bruises beneath her eyes and all; the formidable leader of the Seireitei State Chapter of the Organization for Omega Rights.

“Running on the wrong hours, President-chan? It’s not even three in the afternoon yet,” Rukia teases.

“Got a shitty shift at the lab,” she says, adjusting her glasses and flashing an unimpressed look her way. “What’s your excuse?”

And Rukia, well.

She feels wrung out and fit to burst all at once. Collapsing on the plastic chair beside her, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling, Rukia declares in a sigh, “I’m sleeping with Ichigo.” 

She doesn’t need to turn her head to see Nanao’s brow raise. “ _The Ichigo_?” Because there’s only ever been one. While Inoue’s never been a part of the chapter for the Organization of Omega Rights, omegas are still a small community; word travels fast, and in the past year, Inoue hasn’t made it a secret who she’s holding a candle for.

God, what was Rukia thinking?

“Dreamy, Prince Charming, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Nanao confirms though she’s thankfully kept the judgment from her voice. Rukia feels it anyway.

“The very same.”

Nanao trails, “And Tatsuki…”

“Doesn’t know.”

Both her brows are raised now, Rukia can _definitely_ feel them. “And Inoue…”

“Absolutely does not know,” she scoffs as the full scope of her life thus far spreads out before her, and she’s squeezing her eyes shut to stop it as she groans.

As if contemplating her confession, Nanao doesn’t say anything for a while, and in the waiting room of the health center, there’s nothing but the sound of Nanao’s pen as it fills out block after block of medical information.

Rukia doesn’t ask how she knows Inoue’s blood type; she doesn’t think she wants to know anyway.

The health center is quiet save for them, there isn’t even a nurse manning the reception desk. Though, it doesn’t look vacant because of it.

The whole space just oozes serenity – everything from the walls to the art to the fish tank says cool, calm and _everything is alright_ – the fact that there’s no staff around seems like it’s been done on purpose. Though, it might just be because the center hadn’t been prepared for Inoue, and most of the staff had gone to help her get settled.

Most students going through their heat cycles with no intention of making use of the more common methods of sex and violence, make their bookings in advance.

Not for the first time, Rukia regrets not having prepared for this eventuality even if it seemed like setting them all up for failure. She’d hoped coming to the health center would be unnecessary, if only for Tatsuki’s sake.

The attached medical bill had been just a practical deterrent:

She rubs her neck where she feels the tension start to tighten the muscles there. “Do we have enough cash in the budget for this? Inoue’s not exactly financially kosher right now.”

“We can move things around,” Nanao says which means _probably not, but we’ll figure it out._ Putting the issue out of mind for now, Nanao recalls, “You said sleeping.”

Rukia blinks. “Eh?”

“With Ichigo,” she elaborated, “you said, and I quote, _I’m sleeping with Ichigo._ Not slept. So, it’s still happening.” When Rukia doesn’t deny it, Nanao asks, “When was the last time?”

“Does it count that I offered to blow him like an hour ago?” Rukia asks in a wince.

At that, Nanao snorts. “Only if you actually did it.”

“There was an emergency, I don’t always think with my horny brain you know,” she defends. “But to answer your question, like two days ago.”

“When was the first time?”

“At the Sand Dollar,” Rukia admits, “roughly three weeks ago?”

Nanao rearranges her glasses on her nose. “I never took you for an exhibitionist, but I can honestly say I don’t think about you and sex ever.”

Hand over heart, Rukia says sincerely, “And I appreciate it.” Which is not something to be said for Rangiku, who’s dragged everyone into at least one game of _Let me guess the wildest sex you’ve ever had based on nothing but whether or not I would approve of it_.

“He must’ve been good then, you don’t even like alphas,” Nanao muses.

“Unfortunately, Inoue’s got good taste in them,” Rukia can’t help but huff which in turn makes Nanao snicker. “Perish the thought.” Then, with a flourish of her pen as she leaves her signature at the bottom, Nanao passes the clipboard to Rukia to sign as a witness. “Think she’ll find out?”

“About me and Ichigo?” Nanao hums in affirmative. “I doubt it. It was probably left-over rut hormones or something – a temporary bond.”

“A lot of things could be a temporary bond,” Nanao agrees. “How long were you apart, after the rut?”

“A week, a week and a half.” Rukia shrugs.

Nanao frowns. “Well then it can’t be.”

“Can so,” she argues. “Look at Tatsuki and Inoue.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Nanao dismisses. “Tatsuki had Inoue living with her and acted as her alpha would. Even with the bond rejection after when Inoue didn’t reciprocate, the bond would reform every time Tatsuki provided or protected Inoue in some way. Temporary bonds are only meant to last a couple of hours, days at most.” Looking thoughtful, Nanao muses, “Tatsuki and Inoue’s case would actually make a great case study.”

“Stop lab-ratting my housemates,” Rukia scolds. “And what do you mean it’s not a temporary bond, what is then?”

Nanao shrugs. “I don’t know, is the sex good?”

Despite the flush on her cheeks, Rukia mumbles, “I wouldn’t be doing it so often if it wasn’t.”

“And how messy it is,” Nanao tacks on, “biologically and otherwise.”

“And that,” Rukia agrees with a nod.

“Then it might just be good sex.” Again, she shrugs. “Or.”

Rukia groans. “I hate it when you and Rangiku do that.”

“ _Or_ ,” Nanao continues, uncaring for her plight because Rukia’s friends are _mean to her_. “Or you could actually be bonding.”

At that, she splutters. An actual bonding isn’t just reciprocated feelings, it’s-it’s practically the graduation of courtship; it’s the part before _if anyone should object to this union, please speak now and forever hold your piece_ , and this can’t be the situation she’s found herself in.

People do casual sex and have one night stands all the time. The one time Rukia does it can’t result in _bonding_ ; she can’t be that bad at it!

“We don’t even know each other! I mean, biblically, sure, but -” she stutters to a stop when Nanao leans in suddenly, and though Rukia doesn’t recoil at the sudden closeness, there’s an itch in her skin like maybe she should. “What are you…doing?”

“You’re wearing blockers?” Nanao confirms.

“Yes?” Lifting her forearm to press her nose into the sleeve of her shirt, she crinkles her nose. “It’s been two days and I’m pretty sure I can still smell Ichigo on me.” Though that might be because she’d brushed her cheek, the same one he’d brushed against his own, and the displaced air is stirring the scent of him afresh.

“Did he scent mark you?”

“By accident,” she dismisses, but Nanao’s hum is unconvinced and that’s just so many levels of unfair. “You can’t be serious. We can’t be _bonding_ , it’s just sex.” She’s not hysterical. She isn’t.

Nanao’s silence, and her eyebrows are enough to tell her otherwise.

“It totally is,” Rukia insists. “Listen, I’ve been on two dates with other alphas since I’ve met Ichigo, he hasn’t reacted in any way that would mean a bond is happening between us.”

“Then stay away from him,” Nanao decides.

“It’s not like I chase him down,” Rukia defends.

“Well then, don’t sleep with him next time you see him.” And when Rukia opens her mouth to argue that _she doesn’t, she didn’t sleep with him today, that totally counts_ , Nanao interjects quickly to cut her off, “And no offers of sex. I mean it, keep it in your pants.”

Rukia rolls her eyes because _this is entirely unnecessary and completely ridiculous,_ and says, “Won’t be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Coronavirus, everything's been shut down so like. RL is on hold, for better or worse. So, please enjoy my attempt to finish this story! As always, comments on ao3 will be answered (probably tomorrow lmao my life right now, what a mess), and if you're on tumblr, come hang out at everything-withered.


	13. Chapter 13

It’s a problem.

After four hours of waiting for Inoue to calm down, Rukia’s stumbling out of the building – starving and grumpy, and Ichigo’s waiting outside the health center with a fucking takeaway bag and Rukia just _forgets_.

It’s the whole Christmas and autumn scent that seems to burst and bloom around him, the man needs to wear his damn blockers before he starts a riot.

Until then.

“Oh my god, you’re my hero,” she moans, practically collapsing into his arms, only distantly aware that it says something about her – and the legitimacy of an actual fucking bond – that she just trusts him to catch her.

“Sure,” Ichigo deadpans, squeezing her hip with the hand not holding the takeaway packet out. “Not that these are _my_ leftovers or anything.”

Rukia gives him a blatantly unconvinced look accompanied by a smirk before making an easy swipe for her prize and grinning impishly at him. “Hah, like you can convince me that this _isn’t_ a full portion of tonkatsu.”

“I eat a lot,” he defends, but he’s a horrible liar; his cheeks flush instantly.

With a peek inside, her eyebrows lift. “It looks like you haven’t eaten anything.” Then, “C’mon, before it goes stone cold.” Then, “Oh my god, I can’t believe you waited so long to eat this. How could you?”

He protests, “You just called me your hero for bringing you food.”

“So, you admit you brought me food.” Rolling his eyes, Ichigo’s sigh is long-suffering, and Rukia’s grin pulls wider before he’s reluctantly smiling back. Just a little.

They decide to go to the apartment because it’s closer, besides, “Rangiku’s still at Gin’s, and you said Tatsuki’s with someone else, right?”

“Yeah. Kukaku’s not much better with the talking thing, but I figured since they’re both girls…” At Rukia unimpressed look, he winces. “Was that…not…?”

“Well last I checked, they hated each other,” Rukia informs slowly, and Ichigo’s eye is definitely twitching. “Maybe it’ll help,” she tries to soothe. “Last time Tatsuki got drunk she admitted she’d totally have hate sex with her.”

“Gross.” At her disapproving expression, Ichigo defends, “Kukaku’s my cousin. They’re both practically family to me.”

“Welcome to the Venn diagram,” Rukia says with a flourish, punctuated by the front door she unlocks and throws open for them.

As she orders him around the kitchen on where to find the cutlery and plates in the cupboards, she reheats the food, and adds, “Thanks by the way, for Yuzu. God knows how long it would’ve taken to get Inoue settled if it wasn’t for her.”

And Rukia doesn’t imagine the puff of pride in his chest, though it makes sense when he adds, “She’s a good kid.”

“You know her, you know, personally?”

“Well, she is my sister,” an amused declaration that gets the food half-way to Rukia’s mouth to slip out of the grasp of her chopsticks.

How she didn’t make that connection herself is just so incredibly _dumb_. Yuzu’s scent is similar to Ichigo’s in that undercurrent of Christmas, though it’s sunnier, almost. Having met Yuzu, Rukia isn’t surprised.

Ichigo, none the wiser, adds, “Everyone was pretty surprised when she presented as an alpha, and my youngest sister, Karin, didn’t. But Yuzu’s always had the alpha authority thing going for her. She was just like our mom.”

“Your mom was the alpha?”

His lips twitch, and there’s something fond, something sad about it. “They both were, actually.”

Rukia blinks.

Same-sex primary or secondary (or even both) relationships weren’t uncommon despite the preference of alpha-omega pairings, but not only were alpha-female pregnancies not common, an alpha-alpha relationship lowered the chances of conception substantially. And to have what is apparently three kids; two of them being alphas is pretty impressive, genetically speaking.

Although, “But you said they were true mates.”

“They were. Are,” he corrects. Then he inclines his head to clarify, “Even after she passed away my dad doesn’t like to think of it as something that’s not true anymore.”

Rukia doesn’t know what to do with the revelation, so she eats instead. His lips twitch again. “You can ask.”

Eventually, “When you said it ended badly…” she trails, ready to take it back if it was too much, but Ichigo just shrugs.

“Losing a mate is hard, losing your true mate is. Pretty unthinkable. My dad practically became a whole different person, and since he refused to get matched after she died, he was raising three kids under ten on his own.”

“That must’ve been hard on all of you.”

They eat in silence quietly for a while until, avoiding his eyes, Rukia offers to admit, “Seeing it happen with my brother was pretty hard.” At the soft touch of his shoulder against hers, she continues, “Byakuya-niisama and Hisana weren’t true mates. But they. They really loved each other. But then she got sick and well. She wanted him to still be happy after she was gone.” She rolls her eyes a little fondly at the memory. “She encouraged my best friend Renji, who’d been in love with him since we hit puberty, to tell nii-sama how he felt. They got together with Hisana’s blessing. She was at their bonding ceremony.”

As they clean up their mess, they migrate to the kitchen again; elbowing each other as Rukia turns on the tap to start on the dishes.

“They must’ve been insufferable together,” Ichigo comments with a smirk which makes Rukia snort a laugh.

“They were disgusting, all three of them. But they were happy, and nii-sama and Renji have stayed happy ever since.” She shakes her head. “I’m glad though, that I got to see it, that I’ve experienced it second hand from them. Knowing people actually bond because they love each other and it isn’t just hormones and business deals is kind of a relief.”

“Your parents?” he prompts quietly.

“Clearly not a love match,” Rukia says, snorting. Dishes done, she shakes her hands dry and smirks at the slight-damp and disapproving look Ichigo shoots her. “They couldn’t stop Byakuya-niisama, but their _omega_ - _daughter?_ I should count myself lucky they waited until after high school to try and match me off.”

Considering, Ichigo asks, “Are they serious about it, matching you?”

At that, she shrugs. “I don’t even know. But I don’t think the dates will stop any time soon so until then I just have to keep going to them. Maybe,” Rukia muses, “I’ll piss the alphas off enough that they’ll spread the word and my mother runs out of candidates.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re just going to keep running your mouth at them and then leave.”

“Seems to have worked out just fine,” she hums. “Not that your _assistance_ hasn’t been helpful.”

“Helpful,” he repeats with a smirk, and he’s stepping a little closer, and Rukia shouldn’t let him because _she promised Nanao and –_ “Is that what my _assistance_ is?”

She blinks innocently up at him. “Is there a better word for it?”

Ichigo smirks. “I can think of a few.”

It should startle Rukia how easily they’re pulled to each other, crashing and colliding like gravity, like magnets, like atoms and stars and forces of nature; its science; it's magic. And in the end, it doesn’t matter.

There’s no space for metaphors when he’s cupping her face and he’s just kissing kissing kissing her.

All she can think of is his warm, sure hands sliding familiarly, knowingly, along her skin; kneading at the tense, tired muscles of the day’s stress, coaxing quiet sighs and happy little murmurs he greedily drinks up, chuckling against her mouth, spurning her to squeeze his sides in retaliation.

He just keeps laughing though, and when she finally pulls away to look at him – to glare, however, playfully – she’s struck by the fact that _she’s_ somehow pushed Ichigo against the counter. That now that she isn’t kissing his mouth, his head is thrown back a little; the beautiful golden arch of his neck open and vulnerable. His throat bobs as he catches his breath, and when his gaze flicks back to hers, the curl of her lip darkens his eyes.

“Rukia.”

And it’s not a warning, and it’s not a no, but.

Tracing his Adam’s Apple with her mouth, she helps him shrug off his coat; her palms smoothing his shirt over his chest, his abdomen. She tugs at his belt, then uses it to lever herself up on her toes as she murmurs against his lips, “What do you want, Ichigo?”

His gaze is heavy lidded, his scent cottoning up in her lungs until she’s not so much as breathing oxygen as she is breathing in him.

“You mentioned something earlier…”

“Mmm?” she hums, kissing at the sensitive skin below his ear, and smiling at the cock thickening against her thigh. “Did I?”

Ichigo huffs out a breath, and even though he’s playing at being annoyed, he’s squeezing her ass and pulling her closer and then he’s growling, “Suck me off.”

“Please?” Rukia teases over the zing in her spine and the tremble of her knees.

He catches her mouth with his, viciously claiming, tongues flicking and clashing until she’s managed to get his belt off, until she’s cupping him through his stupid khaki pants; unzipping them and pulling them down as she sinks to the floor.

He’s thick in her hands, silky soft and big in her pale palms. The head of him drools. Fortunately, he doesn’t taste like anything, and though the weight of him is strange in her mouth, she’s curious enough to ignore it.

At first, she tries to take him at once, which is ambitious, given his size. Not that it doesn’t punch a breath out of him which is gratifying enough, but.

Rukia can do better.

From the sounds that follow, she thinks Ichigo approves.

It’s sloppy and messy, and her jaw aches. And even though she’s the one on her knees – parting her lips and spreading them around him, feeling the muscles of his thighs tense and his hips jerk –Ichigo’s looking at her like she’s a god.

And.

Nanao.

Nanao doesn’t have to know.

She doesn’t even need to know about a second _situation_ a few days later when Rukia had come around to the bookstore to escape an argument with Rangiku and Tatsuki about Inoue, and without asking for any details, Ichigo had just offered his apartment for the night, and well.

During his rut, it turns out they hadn’t baptized the floor of his bedroom, and that needed to be rectified.

You know.

For accuracy’s sake.

In Rukia’s defense, _after that_ though, staying away from Ichigo – not sleeping with Ichigo – _not doing anything remotely sexual with Ichigo_ – is easy.

Firstly, because they’d never come across one another before they’d met at the Sand Dollar, and their routines on campus don’t lend themselves to running into one another. Secondly, with Inoue’s heat over, and the other omega back at the apartment, things have been _strained_ for a lack of a better word, at home, making Ichigo the least of Rukia’s concerns.

Rangiku’s been icy towards Inoue, to say the least.

And Tatsuki is. Well. She’s really trying to put some boundaries up, an attempt to cut off what remains of their half-formed bond. With Yuzu’s advice, Tatsuki’s even seeing someone at the health center for counseling, and neither Rangiku nor Rukia have seen much of her since especially after the last argument they all had about Inoue.

While Inoue herself is just. Oblivious.

She giggles and continues on as if everything is completely _fine_. Oh, sure, _“I’m disappointed that Kurosak-kun didn’t hear about it, how romantic would that have been if he’d offered to help? But I don’t think there’d be a polite way of mentioning it, ne, Tatsuki-chan?”_

It’s baffling. Inoue’s on the Dean’s List. She’s a medical student.

She should surely be able to read the room, should notice that everyone around her is unhappy and uncomfortable.

What’s more mind-blowing is that she doesn’t even _ask_ anyone what’s wrong – like it has nothing to do with her – like if Inoue just keeps chirping, being friendly and placing the blame of their behaviors on university tests and projects, that everything that’s been revealed in the past few days will just _go away_.

And it’s not like Inoue doesn’t know that they know.

When faced with the story of Tatsuki getting _bonding therapy_ because evidently gossip doesn’t respect patient confidentiality, Inoue had simply laughed and said, “Really, I didn’t know that was still bothering her.”

And.

Rukia’s wanted to shake her so hard her teeth rattle.

 _How can you use Tatsuki like this?_ Rukia’s thought of asking, watching the strain around Tatsuki’s eyes and the clench of her jaw from the corner of her eye whenever they’re in the same room together. _How can you manipulate her to care about you just so you can get to another alpha? How dare you expect Tatsuki to clean up your messes and chase after you? How can you expect her to give you everything, and yet not want to give anything back? How can you just…take and take from someone? Don’t you feel guilty? Don’t you see that it’s hurting her?_

She’s so pent up, so furious that for a single, fleeting second, she actually thought a distraction would be good for her.

That distraction was not Ichigo.

But god, she wishes it was.

This alpha is just.

There aren’t words to describe how angry he makes her. It’s like her mother’s found a catalog of some of the worst members of the male-alpha species, and called every last one of them.

Rukia wants to crawl out of her own skin with the remembered touch of the alpha and his roaming, wandering hands. She wants a shower so hot it scalds her skin new. 

“But darling,” her mother all but whines after that disastrous date, “his family is so well connected, so well off!”

She answers with furious silence, and her mother sighs. “Alright, alright. Well, you know what they say, awful things happen in threes. Your fourth date, darling, it’ll be wonderful!”

“Mother -”

“Now, now, dear, don’t be like that,” she tsks. “You know your heat is starting soon, wouldn’t it be lovely to have someone to share it with? Poor Inoue didn’t, and she’s such a good girl. You shouldn’t be so picky.”

And Rukia’s just – so fucking tired of this shit.

Tired of this bonding nonsense and this matchmaking business and just – _everything_.

Not tired enough to not be angry, but not so blinded by it that she’d do something stupid which is something she wants to clarify for future reference because she’d decided this all on her own. In that she was going to make a bad decision, and there was nothing to blame it on but herself when she calls Ichigo and pleas: “Come to the apartment.” 

And well.

_Now you’re all caught up._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, this chapter and onwards takes place in the timeline after the first chapter.

There's a saying that goes: "You shouldn't make decisions when you're angry" but Rukia doesn't quite know how much of the blame to own. There's no doubt that she deserves at least _some of it_ , she called Ichigo after all, but Ichigo himself was not exactly. Happy, either.

At least not when he'd arrived.

He'd been pretty bitchy, honestly, and he'd verbally swiped at her when he got there, never mind that he still showed up when she'd called.

They'd traded barbs, Rukia doesn't even remember what they'd fought about, only that he'd growled about how she'd smelled like a different alpha, and then she'd gone on a tirade about alphas being bullshit, and they'd. Had a very angry fuck on the living room floor of the apartment. Twice.

And then escaped to Rukia's room just as Tatsuki and Inoue got back. Narrowly avoiding getting caught and starting, what would probably be, _an implosion_.

The point is. It had been a bad call.

Because now. Now Ichigo is stuck here. In the apartment. With _Inoue_ in the next room. This is incredible levels of Not Good, and it's a damn miracle Rukia hasn't combusted from the stress of it all.

Though her stupid lizard omega brain says differently; her muscles lax and spent, like it's been worked out and wrung out, makes her body feel heavy; her every movement no matter how minuscule, is like wading through the molasses of their afterglow.

Ichigo is. Not helping, in general.

He's nuzzling into any expanse of skin he can reach; scent marking her like it's going out of style, and Rukia should be freaked out because scent marking is. It's a big deal. It's wrapping someone else in your scent to tell the world you belong to someone; it was a claiming. It's harder to ignore than a mark. You can look away from a mark, but you can't just _switch off_ your sense of smell.

He'd done it a few times – the scent marking – during the rut, and sometimes during the sex they had after. But this is. Not either of those things.

"Ichigo?" she asks, tentatively when all he does for a beat or two is breathe, lashes fluttering against the skin of her shoulder.

His eyes are half-lidded, peaking out at her in the color of honey. His lips move in an imitation of a kiss as he replies, "I can still smell him on you."

The other alpha from her date this afternoon. Of course. Even _the great Kurosaki Ichigo_ would succumb to his alpha nature in some way, expecting differently, no matter the reason, is just setting herself up for disappointment and Rukia. Doesn't do that. She has no reason to expect differently from Ichigo.

Nor should she feel vindicated that he'd been…jealous.

Still, she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair, scratching her nails lightly at his scalp. An apology, if there even really needs to be one.

He purrs, burrowing closer; nose slipping into the dip of her collarbone. His approval is doing dumb things to her chest. It feels like fluttering.

The next time she says his name, it comes out in a whisper and at that Ichigo finally lifts his head enough to look at her properly. "You've been gone for a while," he says.

"A few days," she doesn't deny. "Inoue's whole. Thing. Happened. We're sort of dealing with the fall out." Or avoiding it, as it stands. The apartment hasn't been a happy place in general, but neither has anything else in Rukia's life – her mother's latest matchmaking attempt proof of the general state of her life; it's all just drama and bullshit and – She sighs, relief flooding her when Ichigo brushes their noses together before resting their foreheads on one another.

"I figured," and his voice is lower too, out of respect for the severe lack of distance between them. "Tatsuki's been acting like she's walking towards a firing squad."

That reminder makes her sigh again, though its sadness now, and smelling the shift of her emotions in the scant air between them; Ichigo's soft, answering whine and nuzzle is a comfort that pulls a reluctant smile from her lips. Then, she's saying, "Tatsuki deserves better."

His sound is acknowledging, and gently encouraged, Rukia continues, "She loves her, you know? How do you tell someone you love that you can't have them in your life anymore because they don't love you the same?"

"It isn't that simple."

And Rukia knows that, but. "Well, then, how do you deal with the fact that someone you love has been using you?"

Ichigo groans with the attempt to move so as to not squish her, though he does it anyway. Landing on his side and then rolling onto his back before pulling her onto his chest, sighing again like the momentary separation had been _a trial_ , he says, "Are philosophical questions your form of pillow talk, Rukia?"

"Why, can't keep up?" she asks, poking at a rib before he presses the offending hand against his abdomen and she's – not complaining about that.

He tries to hide all his laughs under sighs, but Rukia has his number, and her expectant look is finally answered with, "You accept the fact that people suck, even when you love them."

"Ouch," Rukia groans feigning wounded, "is this your version of pillow talk? Insulting people indiscriminately?"

"Hey, you asked," he reminds with a snicker.

Eventually she probs, "Is that what you really think though?"

"Well, I like you and you still suck."

"Hey," she protests with a flush, unsure if it's because she's actually insulted or if it's because he'd actually _said_ he liked her. Sure, they've been having sex, but you don't need to _like_ someone to want to sleep with them.

"I didn't hear or see you for like a week," Ichigo points out, "I'm allowed to think you suck."

And that's. Fair.

"A lot was going on." And it's not an excuse, but it's also. Not-not one? Almost every time they've met up, they've had sex, but Rukia doesn't just. Like him for that. She likes him for this too; she likes trading words with him and seeing that little smile he tries to hide even if she probably shouldn't. Still, Rukia presses her nose against the tiny divot of his collarbone and breathes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suck." Then, because she's a little shit, she tacks on, "At least not like that."

In response, he swats her ass, and she has to muffle her laugh against his chest. Feeling her smile against his skin, he says with a shake of his head, "First the dirty talk and manhandling, now this. I'm starting to think you're the one with the kinks."

"Well it's very nice of you to indulge them," she says primly, and it's his turn to smother a laugh into her hair before it transitions to a kiss, the sweet carelessness of it making _whatever it is_ flutter again. "Careful," she warns quietly before she can stop herself, "you keep at it and I'll want to keep you."

Predictably, that gives him pause, though he's just as quickly reanimated to press kisses more incessantly wherever he can reach. She just barely stops herself from squealing in surprise when he manages to flip them over.

"Oh my god," Rukia pretends to whine. "You telling me you missed me, Kurosaki? Was a week really too long to deny you my presence?"

At that, he snorts. "You're just trying to get me in trouble."

"How so?" she teases sliding her fingers along his sides in a light enough caress that he jerks to a stop at the ticklish sensation, though not before he drops a final chaste kiss on her lips and withdraws to lie beside her again; the springs of her bed creaking a little with his weight.

"If I say no, you won't be happy." Rukia inclines her head a little, giving him that. Then, "If I say yes, you'll tease me about it."

"And which is the lesser of two evils?"

Serenely, Ichigo repeats, "You're trying to get me in trouble, and I won't fall for it."

She hums, not disagreeing with him, though she informs him casually, "But you know I'm good for it, though."

At that, he sighs, feigning regret, "You're insatiable."

And Rukia doesn't know why she says the words. Maybe it's all the stupid comments she'd gotten from the other alpha she'd met up with, or all her mother's well-meaning but incredibly harmful advice, either way, it comes out a little resentfully, "If you wanted a _proper_ omega, you're better off with Inoue."

Ichigo, instead of falling into considering silence, just immediately retorts, "And if I wanted Inoue, I would've done something about it by now."

Startled, she raises herself on her elbow to look at him properly, and at her attention, he rolls his eyes and huffs an annoyed breath. "Not that I want, Inoue, Rukia. Even if Tatsuki didn't have this. Whatever it is. With her going on."

"You know…about Inoue liking you?"

He scoffs. "I'm not an idiot."

That doesn't stop Rukia from stuttering though, "I…I thought you didn't know, and that was why you – at the Sand Dollar –"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." He has her flipped over again, situating himself between her thighs, a single hand grasping her wrists above her head. And though he could look menacing with the way he's leaning over her – with his one black eye and the snarl of the stitches on his other cheek – the aborted little thrust of her hips up to his says otherwise. Damn it. Rukia can't believe her sense of self-preservation has been overridden by her hormones. Ichigo cocks a brow in turn. "We're doing this again, really?"

"You're the one that likes to be on top," she retorts with a flush, making him roll his eyes at her poor attempt to divert the conversation.

"I'm not really partial either way," he actually allows, and then he's rocking his hips in answer, both of them shuddering at the contact; his growl pitching low, his gaze and his scent threatening to melt her very bones until she's reduced to nothing but the bare essentials of soul and sensation. Before he's saying, "I've known Inoue's liked me since we were in ninth grade, and _I don't want her_."

Rukia wants to be incredulous when she asks, she feels like she is, but the question comes out more wrung out, more breathless, "But you want me?"

Instead of scoffing – because that answer should be _obvious_ given that he's naked, on top of her, and rutting fully hard and slick against her thigh – Ichigo just smirks, dips his head to tease at the skin behind her ear and down her neck to claim and claim and claim.

With each, he declares, "I don't know how to make it more obvious."

"You could use your words," is her retort, however winded.

He huffs out a breath and her answering inhale is as sharp as the teeth that teases along the arch of her throat.

"I saw you at the bar." Bite. "And I wanted you." Bite. Bite. Bite. "And when my rut ended, I still wanted you." Suck. Suck. Suck. "I want you right now." Bite. "And I want you every time after."

When he withdraws to blow lightly on the throbbing, aching marks he's left behind; leaving her tingling and shivering, "Ichi-" He hums as he moves down her chest, her gasp dissolving into a moan as his tongue flicks against a pebbled nipple, his hands rubbing gentle circles against her hips before they slide lower-lower-lower.

"Ichi-"

He parts her lips with a thumb, soothing from top to bottom; his answering groan at the warm wet heat of her muffled against the breast he takes into his mouth, and then his fingers are prodding in – gentle and reverent, coaxing mewls as her body trembles and squirms beneath his attention.

Between the obscene slick noises of his fingers inside her, soothing and crooking against the soft skin of her, he murmurs, "Do I need to be any clearer?"

When she comes its with a sigh that he echoes against her skin as he blinks slowly up at her; dark eyed and languid.

"Maybe – maybe if we didn't sleep together every time we ran into each other, I'd get it a bit more," she admits because _Nanao's always right damn it_ , and for a while, they just stare at each other, but when he finally moves, Rukia's legs tighten around him.

Like she wants to keep him. Like maybe it'll be enough for him to stay.

Ichigo's lip curls in a smile, the corner of his eye crinkles. "Next time."

Squeezing her thigh, because he'd really only just moved so that he could nestle against her shoulder, he moves his hips experimentally against hers; pressing his still hard cock against her belly. When she rolls her hips back with his, she gasps against his neck, her nails biting into his bicep as she tightens her legs around his waist.

He rolls his hips again; the head of him kissing at her core, but not breaching the tentative distance between them. A question.

"Next time," she confirms, and then its three _yeses_ with each syllable of his name. They catch each other's mouth at once, and then he's sliding home. An answer.

Next time.

There will be a next time.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s dark out by the time Inoue finally leaves the apartment which is just fine because between the sex earlier and the knotting of their last foray, they’d both fallen asleep in an intimate tangle of limbs that Ichigo does his best to untangle from without waking her.

He’s pretty terrible at it; bumping into the nightstand and just barely muffling a string of curse words as he stumbles around her room; his naked body a smudge in the blue-tint of twilight.

Rukia watches lazily, eyes half-lidded, as he finds his clothes in the dark.

At first, she thinks he’s going to sneak off into the night, but he just pulls his phone out of the pocket of his khakis, stopping the just barely heard vibration of the device to answer it in a hushed scold, “What, Yuzu?”

There’s a tinny reply Rukia can’t make out the words of before Ichigo’s grunting, “Yeah, I’m with Rukia.”

Another pause. Then, a sigh. “It’s like two in the morning, Yuz, you can’t meet her now.” Rukia’s brow crinkles. _It’s 2 a.m?_ “I’ll ask her.”

 _Ask me what?_ She wonders as he sighs again, a hand in his hair. The streetlight outside her window casts watery golden light over him, spilling dusk over his form to fill the crevices where muscle and bone give way to cradle and mold to his body as if the light can’t bear to keep its touch to itself with him around. Rukia can relate.

He turns his head to catch her watching him and throws her an apologetic look before he’s saying over the phone to his sister, “I’ll tell her you said hi, and yes, I’ll ask.” He sets the phone aside on her dresser and approaches the bed again. Despite being in reach of his clothes just a second ago, he doesn't even have his boxers in hand.

There’s a shadow between his legs that she pointedly tries to ignore, and that he pays no attention to himself as he slips back beneath the covers; the warmth of him seeping right into her pores that Rukia doesn’t think twice about gravitating towards him again, lying her head on his shoulder as he presses a kiss against her temple.

In a yawn, she asks, “Ask me what?”

“My sisters want to meet you. You know, officially.”

“Mmm,” she hums, her eyes already drooping, though she puts up a valiant fight to stay awake enough to ask, “Why?” Ichigo doesn’t help with this endeavor; soothing a hand down her spine before resting on her hip, his thumb moving in soothing circles over it.

“Because it’s been like two months.”

“Two months since…” they’d met at the Sand Dollar; they’d started whatever this was. The thought startles her. “Wait, _are we dating?”_

At that, he huffs, sounding offended, “When you put it like that.”

“This was just – I thought this was just sex,” and if actually is 2 a.m, it's entirely too early in the day that she thinks this is still a bit of a dream that she doesn’t realize how _bad_ that sounds. Fortunately, Ichigo doesn’t seem hurt and just snorts.

“Rukia, what did you think we were doing?” he deadpans. “We’ve had sex so many times outside of my heat cycle. We’ve had dinner together. You hung out at my job. You stayed the night _outside_ of my rut. I can’t even separate my scent from yours until some other asshole put his hands on you.”

“But you,” she stutters, “I thought, I thought this was a temporary bond?”

“We knotted twice during my rut, and I’ve only knotted you once since. Besides, even if it _was_ a temporary bond caused by my rut, it’s been like a month and a half since,” he reminds and it’s frankly infuriating that he’s so calm and she’s just. Not.

She would’ve known. Shouldn’t she? Rukia may spurn a lot of traditional and typical omega behaviors and customs, but she still grew up with them. She’s absorbed and internalized decades of internalized sexism, misogyny and self-hate for years.

 _She’d know if she had an alpha wrapped around her finger. She’d know if she was **dating** someone! She’s read _books _, goddamn it_ which is why it’s so easy to accuse, “You haven’t _acted_ like this was serious!”

Now, finally, he sounds embarrassed. “I’ve never really done any of this before. I was following your lead.”

“Well that was a bad idea, I have no idea where I’m going at least eighty percent of the time!”

There’s an uncomfortable silence before, “Do you…not want to…date me?” She opens her mouth, just as he interjects hurriedly, “It’s fine if you don’t.” Then, “Fuck, holy shit, I’m an idiot.” And then he’s trying to _leave_ which is _definitely not happening –_

“Stop, stop,” she insists, having to practically sit on him to stop him from moving and _leaving, what the fuck, we need to have a serious conversation here!_ “There’s clearly been a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” he huffs, “you think I’m just in it for the sex.”

“Buddy, I didn’t even know how serious you were about me besides wanting someone to spend your rut with,” Rukia defends. “And then I just…thought I was convenient.”

“You’re the housemate of a girl I’ve been avoiding since junior high,” he points out. “You go on dates with other people because your mom is making you, you rile up alphas for fun. And my best friend has no idea that _you’re the secret girlfriend_ I’ve been hiding. What part of any of this is _convenient_ exactly?”

“The part where everything about you is the equivalent to sex pollen to me?”

His voice is flat, “So, it is just sex for you.”

“No – I – I just didn’t think anything _more_ was on the table for you,” she admits, and at that, he sighs like he’s disappointed and frustrated, “ _Rukia_.”

“Is _more_ what you want from me? Because I…I don’t know how to do that.” Despite her bravado, there’s a defeated slump in her posture and a tension that despite it all is pulling bowstring tight beneath her skin.

In response, he’s quiet, but he’s not trying to leave so he must be waiting for an explanation or –

Rukia sighs, rubbing her palms against her eyes. “I don’t know how to…explain.”

“Try,” is his flat reply, and she can’t _look at him_ without wanting to crawl out of her skin right now.

This entire situation feels like a joke that's she’s just now realized that she’s been both the instigator and the punchline of. And worse, she’s inadvertently involved Ichigo. The hurt feelings, the miscommunication; it’s her fault.

And she can blame this on a lot of things: on their first meeting being a case of the wrong time and place; on her mother’s scheming pushing her towards a poorly thought out coping mechanism; on feeling so insecure as a person and omega that Ichigo had been _convenient_ for her to use to feel better about herself. God, in a sense, she’s just like Inoue. The thought makes her sick.

But. 

She won't be like Inoue.

Rukia knows what she's done; she'd chosen to do what she did, regardless of how she felt about herself or how anyone else was making her feel or what was happening in her life. She chose this, consequences included, and she will own them.

“I want you, let’s start there.” Ichigo isn’t appeased, but he still isn’t pushing her off him and leaving so. Rukia takes a breath. “I like you. I like – I like your sense of humor, and the way you scowl, and how you try to hide the way you laugh even though you know I’m funny.”

“Rukia,” and she’s trying to make light of it, and he knows it. She sighs again.

Finally, “No one wants me, Ichigo. Some of it is partially my doing, but. I just. Don’t understand how you could.”

His exhale is loud in the silence that follows. Then, he's admitting, “Because you couldn’t give a shit about alphas, and you didn’t care that I was one.” And, “I was gonna go into rut when we met; I wasn’t looking for anyone to spend it with. I wasn’t even going to go to the Sand Dollar until Tatsuki called. She said she needed me; that Inoue was really pushing to meet me, and driving her out of her mind about it, and that I needed to tell Inoue off myself and put everyone out of their misery. It wasn’t a good time. Obviously. I was pissed and horny and you were there looking as miserable as I felt, getting chatted up by assholes you had no interest in, and I thought – you were the one thing that made sense that day.”

He’s quiet again, and then she’s promptly hesitantly, “And then?”

“And then,” Ichigo breathes, “And then I couldn’t get your scent out of my head, or the noises you made or the fucking mouth on you to tell off people the way you did. Then you called just before my rut. Then you were just there. And I just. _You made sense_. Every time after that, I just wanted to see you again, but I didn’t want to be creepy and I didn’t want to risk it being leftover rut hormones either, so I didn’t look. But then you showed up anyway and.”

“I made sense,” she repeats quietly, thinking of all the omega propaganda about true mates and how _they just make sense_ , and _how could she be so foolish as to think alphas didn’t experience the same sort of brainwashing when Tatsuki had_. Then, Rukia’s asking, “Do you even like me? And not just. My scent. Or the sex or.”

“You mean a lot to Tatsuki,” Ichigo chooses to say. “She’s talked about you before, long before we met. That you’re funny and smart and reliable and honest, things I know are true after getting to know you myself. I’m glad she has you, and I was glad she met you.In the beginning, when you guys started living together, I thought you were the one she was in love with. If I knew you weren’t, I would’ve stopped this Inoue shit before it got as far as it did.”

Reluctantly, she asks, “And now?”

“Now.” He sighs, reaching up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “Now I’m glad you weren’t the omega she was in love with because I…I’d hate to have to put my friendship with Tatsuki to the test over it. She’d…she’d probably win. Though, I’d put up a good fight.”

“What makes you think I’d choose her over you?”

At that, he shrugs, and now he’s tugging at his hair. “I’m not. Friendly. I’m not really anyone’s type. I’m too quiet. And too blunt. I’m not very interesting. And not. Happy enough, I guess. God knows what Inoue sees in me besides the whole alpha thing. But. You could do better. _Anyone_ could do better.”

Rukia stares at him baffled.

This man who recites poetry, and is clearly thoughtful and kind, who cares about his sisters and best friend, who cares about _Rukia_ ; her comfort and her pleasure and _her_ ; who looks like a piece of art on a normal day, and who’s apparently as insecure about his secondary sex as she is hers.

“I can’t believe we’re both stupid.”

That conclusion startles a laugh out of him. Then, “I told you people suck.”

“Even when you like them,” Rukia adds.

“Even when you like them,” he echoes.

“And you…like me?” she ventures to ask eliciting a huff of laughter that she’s become personally attached to before he’s admitting a little nervously, “I like you. Do you…like me?”

There’s no question about it, “Yes.”

The smile that garners is. It’s the most beautifully sincere thing she’s ever seen. It tastes just as sweet.

They both keep the kiss chaste, and when she pulls away, she lies on his shoulder again, his hand settling on her hip like it belongs there; like they belong just like this. They watch the shadows lengthen over them; dawn lapping at their naked skin and the spent sheets.

“Look at us, talking about our feelings and shit. Go, us.”

He chuckles, presses another kiss to her hair. “Does that mean we’re…”

“Dating?” she offers.

Quietly, he confirms, “Yeah.”

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoes, tilting her head to catch his smile. Before she remembers, “My mom. And Inoue, though. God, and _Tatsuki_.”

“Your mom will back off once you tell her about me, won’t she?” Ichigo asks, that smile dissolving easily into a frown. Rukia expected it but she’s still disappointed.

“I guess? I hope. Okay. Side-bar that. What about Inoue?”

She feels him shrug. “I’ll tell her that I’m not interested or available.” Then, he’s sighing, “It’s about time I do.”

“Yeah but. God, she lives here. _And Tatsuki_. The optics of this does not look good,” she grimaces. It was always going to be messy, in hindsight, but now that it’s a thing that’s happening – or could happen – in the near future? Her stomach squirms uncomfortably.

“Then…we wait? Until Inoue moves out? Tatsuki said Inoue’s going to leave at some stage, right?”

“She better after everything she's put Tatsuki through,” Rukia says, her lip curling in a frown of her own. If Inoue doesn’t leave, both she and Rangiku will be happy to show her the door. Ichigo squeezes her hip, dips his head to press a kiss to her forehead and say, “Tatsuki’s lucky to have you.”

“And you?”

“Well,” he sighs, that hint of a smile curling his words, “my life’s definitely gotten more exciting since you’ve shown up in it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, with the weekend here there'll be no updates which should hopefully give me enough time to write a chapter or two for next week. I'm really hoping to finish this story sometime next week, but we'll see!


	16. Chapter 16

“So, your boyfriend.”

Rukia’s eating cereal when it happens because Rangiku’s sense of timing is awful and Rukia _knows_ she did it on purpose. “My _what_ ,” she splutters.

Tatsuki, busy on the stove frying up rice for their breakfast, only snickers over the sizzle of the garlic. “C’mon,” the alpha teases, “you think we weren’t gonna find out?” Which makes Rangiku laugh at the thought, the pair of them cackling like assholes because Rukia’s friends are _the worst_.

“I mean, unless you’ve suddenly gotten _really_ religious,” Rangiku says innocently.

“Mm,” Tatsuki hums, “could explain why she’s got a bit of a hitch her step, don’t you think? Maybe, too much kneeling? Or…other forms of worship?” The pair of them leer at one another conspiratorially.

“You guys are dicks,” Rukia complains.

“Oh, is that what you got?”

That leads to a squeal of laughter, and even though Rukia wishes for the teasing to end with an embarrassed flush and eye roll, when it actually does, Rukia wants to take it back.

It’s been awhile since things have felt good between them.

After the argument that sent Rukia hiding away at Ichigo’s place a few days ago, the trio have tried to give each other space.

Rangiku had wanted Inoue thrown out; they hadn’t agreed to Inoue being their housemate anyway, and in her mind, Inoue had outstayed her welcome after what she’d done to Tatsuki. Tatsuki, on the other hand, couldn’t let that happen because Inoue didn’t have anywhere else to go.

The argument had really gotten heated when Rangiku pointed out that Tatsuki hadn’t even told Inoue that they wanted her to leave in the first place which led to things getting ugly when it was brought up over _who_ would tell Inoue at all.

Rangiku volunteered, but would not be a good option.

Tatsuki should, but definitely wasn’t ready to.

And Rukia. After she’d agreed with Rangiku that Inoue had to go, sooner rather than later, Rukia had reminded Tatsuki that if she wanted any control over how the message of Inoue’s eviction from their apartment was going to be given, Tatsuki would have to be the one to do it. Rangiku, thereafter, spent any time with Tatsuki in the room pointedly waiting for her to make her move while Tatsuki pointedly ignored Rangiku whenever possible while Tatsuki gives Rukia looks that are torn between sadness and anger that Rukia hadn't volunteered to tell Inoue to leave on Tatsuki's behalf. Not that it would've been fair, even if Rukia was technically the most neutral.

It was certainly the biggest trial their friendship had faced but. Rukia was confident they could come out of it.

Of course, they would.

Tatsuki knew they were both coming from a good place – caring about her and her well-being. It was just a matter of facing the hurt that would come with severing a tie with someone for good.

And that relationship with Inoue would surely be severed.

Rukia’s walked in enough times on Tatsuki contemplatively chain-smoking out the window, sullen and introspective that Rukia _knows_ it’s sinking in what Inoue has put Tatsuki through. It only makes Rangiku more impatient to see the end of it though which, of course, only makes Tatsuki more apprehensive about it.

It’s a fine balancing act, and it’s been. Hard. For all of them to be around each other. But this morning was a good reminder of howthey are – how they’ve always been – together.

But now that the source of the contention between them is back to muddy their good time. Well. 

With a yawn and a cheerful good morning that immediately sends the temperature of the apartment from warm to freezing in seconds, Inoue glides into the kitchen.

Tatsuki, in response, has tensed up, focus immediately sliding to her cooking while Rangiku’s good humor vanishes clean off her face. It’s frightening how blank it’s become.

And how quiet the room suddenly is.

As usual, though, Inoue doesn’t seem to notice.

Chattering inanely about a dream she had last night, Inoue eventually says, “Actually, I woke up for a glass of water last night and uhm, heard someone up.” After which she darts her gaze between the three of them, settling on Rangiku almost reluctantly who then immediately scoffs before taking a loud sip of her coffee.

That much at least makes Tatsuki snort.

After an awkward silence, Rukia admits, “That’s on me.”

If Inoue is startled by that revelation, she hides it over a look that implies she’s expecting some kind of apology which again, gets Rangiku to scoff. “No one asked you to press your ear against the wall.”

That at least makes Rukia wince. She and Rangiku do share one, Rukia wonders if maybe Rangiku had actually heard anything…Ugh, that would explain why she’s being such a pain in the ass. The subtle wink Rangiku sends her way is proof of that, and Rukia couldn’t roll her eyes any harder if she tried.

Tatsuki, seeing the exchange, covers another snort with a cough.

“Ah,” Inoue stutters, “I didn’t mean -”

“No, no,” Rukia interjects, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I didn’t…uh…mean to be so loud.”

“Are you going into heat?” Rangiku prods with a wiggle of her brows. “It would explain why you’re being so inconsiderate, Rukia-chan. Tis the season, after all. You don’t need me and Tatsuki to cuddle you this time around, do you?”

Depending on their schedules, Rukia usually spends her heat being catered to hand and foot by her housemates; Tatsuki, as the alpha of the house, happily goes off to retrieve whatever food Rukia craves and terrorizing students from Rukia’s faculty for missed class notes while Rangiku, always touchy-feely, pets Rukia’s hair and coos over whatever Disney movie Rukia’s wanted to watch on repeat.

When neither of them are free, Rukia goes to the health center.

Now, though.

Now, Rukia has Ichigo.

Over her blush, Rukia huffs. “Maybe not.” She hadn’t even. Thought about it. Not really. Not just because the dreaded “what are we” discussion was only recently had, but also because she didn’t even know how she’d _ask_.

Rukia could tell that Ichigo was going into rut when they’d met. Would he be able to tell when she’d go into heat?

“Is it serious?” Tatsuki asks with raised brows, and Rukia’s so relieved that there’s not a tinge of bitterness in her scent leftover from her heartbreak with Inoue. Just curiosity, just surprise. “Tell us everything!” Then, she makes a face. “It’s not one of those assholes your mom found, right?”

“God, no,” Rukia immediately dismisses. As if.

“Is it…that alpha, you spent his rut with?” Inoue asks, tentatively re-entering the conversation. The information is, thankfully for her, interesting enough that Rangiku doesn’t immediately shut her down.

“Y-yeah.” And then it occurs that maybe – maybe Rukia should tell them it’s Ichigo? There was still the fall out to consider, of course, but there was realistically no _right_ time anyway. Why not now?

Then, with a snap of her fingers, Rukia’s window of opportunity closes as understanding dawns in Tatsuki’s expression, and she’s poking the end of her spatula at Rangiku. “It’s that guy she ditched a date for.”

Rangiku’s brows lift, and then her smile is _positively_ _filthy_ , “And he wasn’t even in rut anymore, huh?” She nudges Rukia. “Oooh, look at you getting _properly_ serviced.” Then, affecting a poised air, she adds, “As befitting an omega of your fine breeding, as your mother would say.”

“Stop it, you’re so gross,” Rukia complains over the flush of her cheeks.

“Does that mean the _great_ _matchmaking_ has ended?” Tatsuki teases, setting aside their breakfast and placing utensils across the breakfast nook for the three of them. “Or will she need to size your alpha up before she gives her approval and ends the torture?”

Oh god, Rukia hadn’t even considered what her mother would do if she didn't approve.

With a sympathetic pat on the back, Rangiku coos, “There, there. Maybe if you expound on the size of his knot -”

As one Tatsuki cackles and Rukia shrieks, effectively drowning out Inoue’s embarrassed squeak.

It’s a sign of the times that Tatsuki doesn’t notice Inoue being cut out – that she doesn’t add a fourth plate onto the counter to share breakfast with them – that she doesn’t check to see if Inoue is okay when she doesn’t try to add anything more to the conversation.

If nothing else, it’s an omen of what’s to come because when Inoue tries to slip back to her room with a nervous laugh and a half-hearted, “Ah, Rangiku-san!” Tatsuki interjects to ask her, “Orihime, where are you going?”

At that, she pauses, and her smile looks a little brighter to be included again. “Ah – Tatsuki-chan, you know I don’t like garlic in my food.”

Rangiku’s jaw drops in shock, and Rukia squeezes a hand over her housemate’s knee to stop her from letting whatever words out which is just as well because something hardens in Tatsuki’s expression as she ignores the comment altogether and says, “I need to talk to you.”

Rukia doesn’t know what her face is doing, but Rangiku’s is practically screaming _It’s happening!_ “Oh,” Inoue says airily, “what about? Maybe later, ne? I’m going to get ready. I think I want sushi for breakfast instead!”

“No, Inoue, now.”

Pointedly, both Rukia and Rangiku keep their gazes on their plates in a poor attempt to give them privacy as they shovel their food into their mouths mechanically, ears straining for whatever movement or action is to be made by either of them.

“Ah, Tatsuki-chan, you’re doing that thing again,” Inoue says, her voice curling disapprovingly. “You know I don’t like it when you use that tone.”

Is Rukia really just hearing the way Inoue talks to Tatsuki, or has it always been this awful? She’s been so resentful of Inoue being the perfect omega Rukia’s mother wants her to be that she’d shut Inoue out entirely, not realizing how much Inoue was hurting Tatsuki right under Rukia’s nose.

Going by Rangiku’s payroll and lack of twitch in her expression, though, apparently, she’d heard enough of Inoue’s behavior herself. Knowing Rangiku, she hadn’t taken it lying down, but Tatsuki hadn’t wanted to hear a word against her.

Rukia grimaces, and ventures a glance up to peek at Tatsuki’s face.

The alpha looks frozen, untethered; wide-eyed and pale, before she seems to come back to herself, skin flushing and expression stormy. Not a deterrent for Inoue, evidently, as she continues her trek to her room, making it to her door before Tatsuki spits, “I need you to move out.”

Finally, Inoue sounds startled. “Wh-what?”

“I need you to move out,” Tatsuki repeats, and though she had to swallow hard to get the words out again, her voice is steady. “I know you have financial issues which is why I’m telling you now. I don’t expect you to leave right this second, but it’s happening.”

“But Tatsuki-chan,” she protests.

“No, I…” There’s only a moment of hesitation, and Rangiku and Rukia meet her gaze supportively over the counter. Tatsuki steels herself, and says, “It’s taken a long time to figure out what’s been happening, but I know now, and I won’t let you treat me like this anymore. I want you to move out. Preferably soon.”

“I didn’t,” Inoue stutters, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Tatsuki-chan. Is it the temporary bond? You know I don’t feel that way about you and it’s not fair that you would…” She stops, takes a shuddering breath, and then she’s entreating, “Rukia-chan?”

Rukia flinches as Tatsuki snaps, “Don’t bring her into this.”

Rangiku gives up all pretenses and turns in her chair to scowl at Inoue and accuse, “You keep your manipulation to yourself; you give omegas a bad name with the way you behave.”

“I don’t,” Inoue stutters again, and then she’s pleading, “Rukia-chan, I don’t understand what’s happening, please you have to -”

Rukia takes a breath; fights through her own instincts that recognize Inoue as _the same as Rukia, as someone who needs help,_ and interjects, “I don’t have to do anything. Except maybe help you pack.” When she turns around in her stool, Inoue’s got tears in her eyes. Rukia clenches her fists. “You’ve never called me by my first name in all the time we’ve lived together, and you think, what? Just because we’re both omegas that I’ll stand up for you? When you’ve been hurting _and using_ Tatsuki the way you have?”

Inoue gasps, “I would never – I – Tatsuki knows how I feel about Kurosaki-kun. I wouldn’t – I’m a good omega, Rukia-chan, I was just.” When Rukia remains unmoved, Inoue switches tactics, once again pleading with Tatsuki, “Please, you’re my alpha, you can’t -”

“You,” Tatsuki interrupts slow and calm, “are going to leave. Whether it’s at the end of the month, or the end of two. I don’t care. But I’m not.” It hurts, her words sound scrapped out of her throat, but Tatsuki says them anyway, “I’m not your alpha. I could have been, but you didn’t want me. And I let you use me instead because I love you.”

Sniffing, Inoue says, “I love you too, Tatsuki-chan.”

Rangiku almost stands up at that, but then Tatsuki is sniffing too and shaking her head to say, “No, you don’t. But that’s okay because I love me enough for the both of us.” With a breath, she tries to sound neutral as she advises, “You should start packing at least, making some phone calls about where you can go. But you aren’t staying here anymore.”

For several long minutes there’s nothing but silence and then a sob, followed by the door of Inoue’s room slamming closed.

Tatsuki’s posture droops like the strings of her have been cut loose, and both Rukia and Rangiku are around her, holding her between them and squeezing like it’ll be enough to pull her back together.

Through choked breathes, Tatsuki admits in a whisper, “It still hurts.”

“Of course, it does,” Rukia says against her shoulder, voice strained with her own tears because omega empathy is a hell of a thing. “This mattered, and Inoue mattered to you. And you had to choose to matter to yourself more instead.” Then, rubbing her cheek against Tatsuki’s shoulder – a comforting scent mark that Rangiku is echoing against Tatsuki’s hair – Rukia adds, “We’re so proud of you.”

Sounding just as weepy because Rangiku’s never met a moment she couldn’t fully emotionally invest in, she says, “Inoue might not know what she has, but we do: _we love you_ , don’t forget.”

That rouses a sound that is both a sob and a laugh before Tatsuki is squeezing them back.


	17. Chapter 17

The shop is closing when Rukia arrives, flashing a smile at a customer, as she slips inside; Rukia makes herself at home on the couch she collapses into while Ichigo finishes the last of his duties for the day. To the empty store at large, she declares, “I’m emotionally compromised.”

“Gross,” he deadpans, “should I get you a bucket?”

She nudges a foot at him as he strolls past, books in hand to re-shelve; he grabs her ankle in response, gently squeezing it before continuing on his way.

Rearranging herself so she’s up on one elbow, she pouts at him. “You’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?”

Rukia makes a face which he feels because she can see his shoulders shake. With a roll of her eyes and a dramatic sigh, “Fine _,_ since you’re _dying to know_ : Tatsuki told Inoue to leave.”

That, finally, garners his attention, even if he’s still mostly focused on the shelves. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it was hard to watch.” Rukia lies back down on the couch, propping her feet up on the armrest as she stares up at the skylight and says, “It hurt her to do it, but it's for the best. Tatsuki seemed almost relieved that it was over, even if Inoue isn’t going to be leaving the apartment at this exact second.”

“And you’re emotionally compromised because…”

“It hurt her,” Rukia says, “Tatsuki’s a big girl but she still got her heart broken. And, I mean, Inoue did the hurting, but I feel bad for her too.” Even if Rukia was still vindicated to see Inoue finally getting called out for her behavior. It mustn’t have felt good. Though, Rukia supposes that’s the point.

Inoue was just lucky that Rangiku had kept it together before she fled to her room.

“You shouldn’t,” he grunts, and Rukia doesn’t necessarily bristle, but she still admonishes, “Ichigo!”

“She called Yuzu,” he says, and she can hear his scowl. “She asked if she could stay with her.” Then he’s muttering, “It’s just bullshit.”

Rukia’s brows furrow. “Well, I mean, Yuzu was the healthcare professional in charge of her during her heat. It’s not…the best situation. But -”

“Inoue knows she’s my sister,” he reminds and. Just.

“You think she’s trying to pull the same thing on your sister as she did with Tatsuki.”

His silence is deafening.

“She can’t be serious,” Rukia deadpans.

“Yuzu said no, for professional reasons, of course,” he allows. “Yuzu told Inoue to check in with the omega dorms administration office instead,” he exhales, a tinge of relief that’s almost eclipsed by how he’s clearly trying not to get upset about it.

Not that Rukia doesn’t get it. Because she does.

It’s actually really boggling her mind how unwavering Inoue seems to be towards her goal of reaching Ichigo. It’s…insanity. “Why is she so obsessed with you?” He makes a face which makes her roll her eyes again. “Oh, please, we both know you’re hot Kurosaki, you don’t need the ego boost.”

Ichigo snorts. “If I knew what I was doing, I’d stop. As it stands, I’m going to have to tell her myself.”

“Why haven’t you?” Rukia asks and at that, he pauses in his shelving.

In fact, he stops shelving entirely to face her and admit, “I never thought I’d need to.” Something about her expression prompts him to explain, and he does, “We’ve been going to the same school for years, we’ve never talked. Outside of her becoming friends with Tatsuki, becoming her housemate all within the past year; I haven’t thought about her at all beyond the fact that we’re from the same town. Inoue has no reason to be the way she is about me. Inoue doesn’t know me.”

Drawing herself up to sit properly, though pulling her knees to her chest, Rukia says, “She used to tell us her plans of how she’d meet you. I didn’t…I didn’t realize how messed up it was until this thing with Tatsuki happened. I just thought she was infatuated by you.”

“She is.”

At her sarcastic look, he holds his hands up. “Unlike her, you have personal experience of how great I am.”

“Okay,” she drawls, laughing. “Well, Mr. Great, you’re going to have to be less of yourself when you tell her that you and her aren’t ever going to happen.”

“Never ever?” he mocks, feigning shock. “Do you intend to keep me, Kuchiki?”

Humming, Rukia teases, “I’m tempted, but if you keep at it, I could always return you.”

“Yeah,” he stretches the word, “that’s not how this works.” By now, Ichigo has long abandoned his task of putting books away and is balancing on his knee to hover over her.

“You know, just because you’re gonna kiss me doesn’t mean we’re gonna have sex on this couch,” she says, like a liar.

“Yes, well, we did agree that next time we wouldn't sleep with one another."

And.

Damn it.

They did agree, didn’t they?

He chuckles at her pout, and drops a chaste kiss on her lips anyway.

To his retreating form, Rukia sighs, “Probably for the best, I don’t think your boss would approve.”

Ichigo snickers. “It’s okay, I know the owner.”

“Oh?”

At that he actually _fucking_ winks at her.

And.

“No.”

He wiggles a brow and just continues on his way like he didn’t just imply – “You own the store.” He doesn’t answer which is an answer onto itself. “How the hell -” Rukia shakes her head. “You know what, we don’t know each other that well and that’s changing right now.” She’s on her feet and dragging him off by the arm to his laughter.

“Wait, wait don’t you – you have a date right about now, don’t you? You haven't told your mom yet -”

While true, Rukia hasn't had the time to loop her mother in yet to the change in her relationship status considering all that’s happened today with Inoue and Tatsuki, but. “So? The point of a date is to get to know someone, and I want to get to know you.”

“So,” he begins with an arch of his brow. “You’re taking me on a date.”

At his tone, she gives him a look that says _you got a problem with that?_ And he lifts his hands up in mock defense. “I’m just saying, _traditionally,_ alphas do the asking. Or at the very least, the guy does.”

Rukia’s expression doesn’t waver. “And what part of our relationship says it’ll be traditional, Kurosaki?”

“Fair enough,” he allows with a smirk and then allows himself to be led.

Halfway down the street, though, he hesitates enough to say, “I don’t…think I’m dressed right for this.”

Pausing to take in his khakis and button-down with an actual honest-to-god cardigan thrown over it, Rukia decides, “I already know what you look like under that.”

“Fair.”

She has. No idea what she’s doing in hindsight, and tells him so about three minutes later as they board a bus which is full of commuters heading home for the day, “I’ve never actually done this before.”

He steadies her as the bus jostles, grabbing onto the loop hanging from the bar above them for support before he clarifies over the loud rumbling of the bus, “Been in charge of a date?”

“Been on one,” she corrects before she amends again, “At least one where it wasn’t either a prelude to something else, or an arrangement by my mother.”

Ichigo pauses. “When you say it isn’t a prelude…”

She digs her elbow into his abdomen eliciting a snort. “What?” Rukia teases, “You think I won’t like you if you aren’t, as you say, on your knees?” Which is a question she punctuates with an innocent kiss on the cheek that he grunts at.

Beneath her lips, she feels his face heat. “You really were set out into the world to torture me, weren’t you?”

Her shrug is careless, her following smile innocent, and teasing or no, they don’t have sex that night.

They go to dinner at a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop, and she teases him over the fact that he likes his food bland: “I like my food edible,” he corrects, pointing at her bowl with his chopsticks, “That looks like the gateway to hell.”

It’s a worrying red color, Rukia will admit but also, “It tastes a lot better than it looks.”

“That is not comforting, at all,” he informs. “I should get you some milk. Or a fire extinguisher.”

“You worry too much,” she laughs.

“How are you going to eat it?” he teases, “Your utensils will melt in the bowl. I’ll have to get a new girlfriend if it dissolves you too.”

She snorts, and eats just fine _thank you very much._ Rukia doesn’t even need the milk. Though, once she coaxes him to taste, he finishes an entire glass on his own. But the fire extinguisher suggestion was still unnecessary and he knows it.

They stay until closing just talking.

Rukia finds out that Ichigo is a library science major with a minor in history. He’d chosen his degree based on how little contact with people he’d actually have to have after he graduated. And, in his words, “I like books.” 

The bookshop was where his parents met, though neither of them had owned it: “I found it in freshmen year on that scavenger hunt. It was the exact store in my mom’s photographs at home. They had a Help Wanted up, and I figured it was a sign. In my third year, the owner wanted to sell to some developers and retire out in the country, and I managed to convince him to sell it to me instead.”

“So now you just own a bookstore,” Rukia says.

He shrugs. “It’s not hard. The previous owner had a pretty extensive collection of private and first editions. Put some new paint up, add some furniture, bear the pain of stocking some recent books on the bestsellers lists, and boom; the place practically pays for itself. I just stick around to clean up afterward and make sure all the bills get paid.” Then, “What about you?”

“I don’t own a bookstore you’ve never been to; I promise.” At his huff, she laughs. “I’m a biology major. I’m still working out what I want my focus to be, but my aim is academia though I wouldn’t turn down a research position if it ever came up.”

“Huh, and here I thought your knowledge on mating cycles was strictly limited to high school biology,” he teases.

“That knowledge was purely theoretical in my defense, until recently,” she allows with another more sheepish laugh.

They talk about their siblings.

Apparently, there a was a bit of drama when his sisters, twins, presented the way they did: “We all thought Karin would be an alpha and Yuzu an omega, or barring that, both of them would turn out to be betas. The latter would make the most statistical sense.”

“But,” Rukia prompts.

“Alpha and beta,” he replies. “Karin went through a bit of a crisis, Yuzu too, now that I think about it. They’d both had expectations of who they were, and then they presented and it was like they didn’t know themselves at all.”

“I can understand that,” she says with a shake of her head. “I thought I’d be a beta, if not an alpha like my nii-sama. But.”

“I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if you were an alpha.”

She nudges him. “Would you still like me if I was an alpha?”

Ichigo huffs a laugh. “I think I’d like you no matter what.”

Despite her flush, she toasts to him with her bottle of soda, “Very smooth.” He accepts her praise with a noncommittal hum and another wink, and it’s probably the best date Rukia’s ever been on.

“This is not actually an accomplishment,” she lets him know as they stroll towards the bus stop, not holding hands, but bumping elbows and hips. “You’ve heard the kind of dates I’ve been on.”

“I’ll still take the compliment if its all the same to you,” he says, then as they board the bus, “Speaking of, has your mom bugged you yet, about your date?”

“Surprisingly not,” Rukia answers, pausing a beat to check her phone, letting Ichigo steer her along to an empty pair of seats as she checks her messages. “That’s suspicious,” she notes, “almost as soon as I ruin her plans for me, she’s got an entire novella acted out on my voicemail.”

“Quite a talent.”

“She’s just incredibly bored with her life,” she corrects with a snicker. Then, “Ah.” Rukia rolls her eyes, “speak of the devil.”

Seated next to the window with Ichigo beside her, she presses her phone to her ear on the side where he’s sitting so he can hear, and answers, “Yes, Mother?”

“Oh, dearest! Good, if you’re answering you mustn’t be busy,” she says, practically aflutter, “I’m so excited, how did it go?”

“Go?” Rukia echoes.

“Well,” she huffs, “I didn’t get any phone calls from any irate alphas or their parents so I assume it went well?”

Her brows are furrowed now. “What are you -”

Her mother, as usual, steamrolls over her, “You know, I wasn’t sure about the family. But apparently, they’re related to the Shibas. Dear, do you know the Shibas? The big hotel chain Shibas, Rukia! Anyway, the Shiba’s have an alpha son but he’s already taken, and while their daughter is an alpha, she’s well. Hmm,” she makes a dismissive noise before continuing on, “They have a cousin, and his pedigree isn’t as _nice_ as I would’ve liked, both his parents are _alphas_. But his father is a _doctor_ with his own practice, and -”

“Mother, I don’t -”

“His name is a little odd too, _Ichigo_ ’s a girl’s name, isn’t it?” And at that, Rukia turns to look at him beside her, where he's frowning and correcting, “Actually, it means ‘the one who protects’.”

Her scandalized expression apparently entertains him, even as she threatens, “You -” In her ear, her mother continues to chatter and she’s forced to interrupt herself, “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“What?” Then, “Oh, _oh!_ Are you still with him dear? See, I told you, fourth time’s the charm! Well, let me know what you think of him then. Ta!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even kidding. This story REFUSES to finish. HELP. 


	18. Chapter 18

“Rukia,” he sighs, “it’s been two days.”

She tries not to huff. “Yeah, and I’m only answering my phone because I want you to stop calling.”

There’s barely a pause from that before Ichigo's stating, “You’re mad.”

“No shit,” she snorts.

At that, he hesitates. “I don’t understand why.”

She splutters, and when someone in the library hisses at her, Rukia forcibly lowers her voice to hiss, “You don’t – Ichigo, instead of just asking me out yourself, you went behind my back and arranged it with my mother? When you know I hated the entire concept? What the hell? Do you honestly think I can’t make my own decisions?”

“That’s not why I did it,” he interjects and he sounds a little frazzled, and plenty uncomfortable. Good, she thinks a little viciously.

Their date had gone perfectly up until that phone call with her mother, proving, once again, that taking her mother’s calls results in nothing but misfortune. Though this time, Rukia allows, her mother hadn't done it on her own.

“Then what then? Because I can’t think of a single reason why you’d want to involve my mother in something that has nothing at all to do with her,” she declares, setting aside her notes and books on the desk to cross her arms and glare unseeingly down the library hall.

He doesn’t reply immediately which doesn’t help with her temper. She’s always a little more volatile closer to her heat, and with that thought, her face feels both tingly and hot with the remembered embarrassment she felt that she was going to ask Ichigo to share her heat with her – after he’d pulled this!

“Your mother was an obstacle.” She snorts which he politely ignores to continue explaining, “She’d probably keep trying to set you up until you told her about me.”

“So?”

“So, I took care of it,” he says, and while he sounds stiff and awkward about it, he also doesn’t sound all that repentant. But with her continued silence, he admits quietly, “I wasn’t actually okay with you seeing other people, alright?”

Her anger unfurls. “What do you mean?”

“I know you didn’t like them, and that you were being made to go on these dates with them, but that doesn’t mean I had to like it. Before…all this though, I didn’t have any reason to tell you because. What were you to me anyway besides a girl I liked?” Then, rubbing a hand over his face, his voice comes muffled, “Like I said, I figured you knew how dating was supposed to work, and if you wanted to compare partners then I had to respect that, whether I liked it or not.”

Her stomach swoops.

Oh, god.

Rukia swallows. “Does that mean you were…seeing other people while I was on these dates?”

“No!" He's quick to refuse. "God, I didn’t – I was speaking from my point of view. I didn’t want anyone else, but I couldn’t stop you if you wanted to.”

“That’s not – Ichigo, that’s not how this works,” Rukia says, and her face feels hot again, she cradles her face against her hand to cool her cheeks. “If seeing other people was what we both wanted, it would’ve been something we talked about first. And for the record, I wasn’t ‘comparing partners’, I was just doing it to get my parents off my back. You were like…the reward at the end for dealing with it. Even if I wasn’t necessarily looking for you after it was done.”

He lets out a gusty exhale.

Then, “Okay. Okay.”

“I’m still not happy you went behind my back,” she tells him softly. “But I can understand where you were coming from.”

Then, “So…are you still mad?”

“No,” she eventually decides. More embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I overreacted.”

“No. I get it, now that you’ve explained it to me,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t have just done it, but thought you’d like the surprise of not having to deal with your mother anymore if I arranged it.”

At that, Rukia chuckles. “Please, she wouldn’t leave me alone the whole night because she wanted to hear everything about our date.”

Having to tell her mother that Ichigo was “nice” and “thoughtful” and “makes her laugh”, but also that he greatly pissed her off in a hundred and twenty seconds or less, but not being able to explain why was not something Rukia ever thought she’d have to do. But it’s what she’d done. 

“But seriously, I overreacted.” She sighs. “I could’ve just told you when it happened instead of freezing you out for two days. It’s just,” she takes a breath and admits, “I get a little…touchy when I get…close to my heat.”

“Oh.” Then, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, and for once there’s an actual awkward pause between them. Maybe it would’ve been easier to bring it up when they hadn’t been…fighting? How did that look anyway, to go from pointedly ignoring someone to wanting them to do something for you? She shakes her head. “So, uhm,” Rukia manages a smile. “I’ll see you in a couple of days then, okay?”

“Yeah,” he echoes, then clears his throat. “Uh, if you need anything, let me know, okay?”

She doesn’t know if he’s just offering to be polite or.

Either way, Rukia thanks him, and puts the phone down with a sigh that’s a combination of relieved and exhausted; she rests her head on her desk and tries to calm the agitated thump-thump-thump in her chest.

It’s an attempt that’s all for nothing when Inoue appears.

“Kuchiki-san.”

“Ah,” she startles, hand over her chest, and breathes through the adrenaline shot of panic. With the shushing in all directions, Rukia grimaces in apology before acknowledging, “Inoue?”

It’s the first time Rukia’s seen her face to face since her conversation with Tatsuki three days ago. Though, that’s not an entirely accurate observation.

After Tatsuki made the executive decision not to be home if she could avoid it until Inoue had moved out so only Rangiku and Rukia were a witness to Inoue scuttling around the apartment, head bowed in submission every time she wasn’t in her room. She’d rarely speak, though when she did, she used her baby voice in an attempt to garner sympathy which Rangiku, for one, wasn’t moved by, and that Rukia just cringed to hear.

Now, though, Inoue looks like her usual self, and sounds. Different. It immediately gets Rukia’s hackles up. 

Her instincts aren’t wrong when Inoue demands, “Does Tatsuki-chan know?”

“Know?” she echoes.

Inoue notches her chin. “About you and Kurosaki-kun.”

She freezes. Then, “What about me and Ichigo?”

At that, Inoue scoffs, and it’s so…not like her to do that Rukia almost recoils in surprise. “You accused me of using Tatsuki-chan when you did the exact same thing,” Inoue says, and that makes Rukia frown.

“I didn’t use Tatsuki for anything, least of all for anything involving Ichigo,” she retorts, and when she’s answered by more shushing from the other tables at the library, Rukia brushes it off with a glare.

Again, another scoff before Inoue’s turning to leave. “We’ll see what she thinks then, won’t we?”

And Rukia can’t do anything else but watch her go, baffled and a little shellshocked because. What. The. Actual. Hell.

“Does she seriously think it’s the same thing?” Nanao demands twenty minutes later when Rukia leaves the library just as Nanao is done with a lab, the pair of them usually walking home together. 

Rukia sighs. “I don’t know. I’m kind of leaning towards yes because she’s clearly certifiable, but that’s not the issue here.”

“Tatsuki,” Nanao confirms before she shakes her head. Then, firmer, “You didn’t use her though.”

“I didn’t,” Rukia confirms, a little annoyed. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t see it that way especially if Inoue tells it, and god knows how Inoue will tell it.” She scoffs at the thought, rubbing her face with her palms and sighing loudly once more. “Inoue knows nothing about me and Ichigo. Though how she even found out about me and him, I’ll never know.”

But Nanao isn’t concerned about that. She squeezes her arm and gently pries her from the wall she found herself leaning against, tugging Rukia towards the apartment. “Your heat…”

“Yeah,” she exhales. “It’s not supposed to start yet.” And then, because the observation isn’t helpful, she adds, “It’s really not a good time for this.” Vaguely Rukia notes that her eyes feel hot. Like she’s got a fever. Like she’s about to cry. It could be both.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

They manage to get to Rukia’s floor before they hear the shouting from inside the apartment.

Nanao picks up the pace, and navigates them to the doorway just as Tatsuki demands, “Get out! I’ve had enough of this!”

At first, Rukia recoils like she’s been hit, but then the door is thrown open, and she realizes Tatsuki wasn’t talking to her.

Inoue’s standing there crying again and pleading, “Tatsuki-chan, it’s the truth!”

“The truth?” Tatsuki repeats with a growl. “The truth is you’re manipulative and think everyone is too.” Then her attention shifts at Rukia’s whimper, and Tatsuki is setting aside Inoue and helping Nanao bring Rukia inside.

“I’m supposed to still have another day,” Rukia tries to apologize, but Tatsuki’s already asking, “It’s started, already?”

“Could be the stress,” Nanao answers her shooting Inoue a blank look, before saying, “Does she have her heat stuff organized?”

“Always,” Tatsuki replies, “you’ve got them trained like the military at that chapter of yours.”

“Responsible omegas,” Nanao corrects primly.

Then, Tatsuki’s turning her attention to Rukia, and scent marks her cheek with her palm in a sign of comfort as she asks quietly, “Do you want me and Rangiku to take care of you, or do you want me to call Ichigo?”

Rukia furrows her brow in confusion. “Ichigo?”

“Tatsuki-chan,” Inoue whimpers.

She scoffs again, though this time it’s more out of humor than anything else as she rolls her eyes and teases Rukia, “What, you really didn’t think I’d know? Please, he was sending out so many mine-mine-mine hormones that day in the coffee shop, I thought I’d have to tie him to the street post outside.”

“I didn’t,” Rukia stutters, struggling to stay conscious over the increased heat flooding her body. “That wasn’t the first time I met him.”

“Rukia,” Nanao chides, clearly thinking that the priority of getting her settled was more important than clearing up anything Inoue might have said to Tatsuki about her and Ichigo. Even though it’s not.

Tatsuki’s been through enough, Rukia thinks.

She doesn’t want to give Tatsuki any reason at all to question Rukia or Ichigo. Not when Tatsuki’s probably still confused and angry and sad on a good day. Rukia refuses to put Tatsuki through that state of mind even for a moment, just for her own comfort, and she surely wouldn’t lie to her like Inoue has just because it’s convenient to.

“At the Sand Dollar,” Rukia admits. “That night we were all supposed to have been hanging out together? I met him then, but I didn’t. I didn’t know it was him until after. And then we just kept seeing each other and -”

Her head snaps to the side, and it shocks her awake when she slowly turns her head forwards again, expression baffled and her eyes watering, Rukia finds Inoue crying too.

She looks furious beneath her tears, and her hand is still raised, palm red from where it had landed on Rukia’s cheek.

Everyone’s so jarred by the action that no one says anything, and there’s nothing but the sound of Inoue’s heavy breathing before, “You – you took him! Kurosaki-kun – he was supposed to meet me that night! And you just – you took him from me! Even though you knew I loved him! How could you! I’ve – I’ve never met another person so cruel!” And when she raises her hand again, she’s only stopped by Nanao grabbing her wrist.

“Stop it.”

“Ise-san!” Inoue protests.

“Stop it,” Tatsuki repeats, voice so stiff and cold that Inoue’s jaw just drops. Flicking her gaze Rukia’s way, Tatsuki admits, “I knew. He’s my best friend, Rukia, of course, I knew. Granted it was just a suspicion after you spent his rut with him, but it didn’t click until later – until – until Orihime had her heat, and I couldn’t stand the smell of him on you because I knew how much Orihime would’ve preferred it to me.”

“Tatsuki,” Rukia murmurs, horrified and heartbroken, but before Rukia can reach for her friend, to hug her and apologize, Inoue gets in the way to accuse: “You took him! You took him from me!”

“Stop it,” Tatsuki demands, and she sounds so tired, so resigned.

It’s Nanao that steps in to tell Inoue, “That’s enough.” Then, “Whatever conflict you have with Rukia isn’t going to be resolved like this. You need to go.” When Inoue does nothing but stare at her, tears still dripping down her chin and eyes crinkled at the corners in a glare; Nano cuts a glance Tatsuki’s way, and asks, “Could you please take her outside?”

Tatsuki nods, pausing only to squeeze Rukia on the shoulder and mouth, “It’s okay” before she hustles Inoue out, the other omega reanimating enough to try and wiggle her way free, plaintively begging for Tatsuki to _listen, please, didn’t you hear what she said? Tatsuki-chan, how can you let her get away with that? Then how could you? How could you?_

Nanao sighs and shakes her head, urging Rukia towards her room. “C’mon, that’s enough excitement for today, I think.”

Rukia manages to mumble her thanks, and by the time she’s been helped into her pajamas and coaxed beneath her covers, she’s already mostly fallen asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Rukia feels someone carding their fingers through her hair; the scent of something sweet and fruity roused beneath the skin she nuzzles into, seeking comfort even as she groans to consciousness.

Rangiku soothes her, tutting, “I go to class _one time_ , and I miss all this.”

Someone snorts, and from the warm press of a hand over hers, squeezing her fingers, Rukia gets the sense that it’s Nanao. It’s confirmed a second later, “God knows the kind of fall out we’d be dealing with if you were home to see it.”

“But look, I’m helping!” Rangiku whines. “I should get points for that!”

“You wouldn’t have been helping in the moment though,” Nanao points out because Rangiku’s never met a situation she couldn’t agitate if she wanted to, and when it comes to Inoue, Rangiku _really_ wanted to.

She’d kept a lot of her opinions about Inoue to herself for months. She probably has hours of tirades stored up just waiting to unleash, given the opportunity, and Rukia’s latest altercation with Inoue was exactly that.

Though, Rangiku still tries to deny the pleasure she would’ve taken if she’d been involved as she sniffs, “You don’t know that.” A silence passes, then, because even on a bad day, Nanao has everyone’s number, Rangiku is quick to sniff again, “Touché, President-chan.”

In the pause between a prolonged blink and a deep exhale, Rukia hears, “— Ichigo, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nanao hums, and she sounds like she’s closer all of a sudden. On Rukia’s other side instead of further away as she had been earlier. Rukia’s brows furrow in confusion, and she makes a sound that echoes it, though she’s immediately shushed by Nanao as she replies, “I don’t know much about it beyond the fact they that they're sleeping together.”

“Which is about as much as I got.” Rukia can hear Rangiku smirk. “Although I got a slightly more, up close and personal demonstration via our wall. Ack! Nanao-chan!” She groans.

Nanao makes an offended noise, probably adjusting her glasses.

“What?” Rangiku whines, “I’m just telling you what I know!”

Nanao huffs, and that’s the last thing Rukia hears before she falls asleep again.

Rukia wakes up intermittently to beg something to drink off whoever is closest – sometimes its Rangiku or Nanao – and gets pats on the head and cuddles before she falls back asleep.

Sometimes they talk, and Rukia contributes. She thinks? Anyway.

They argue over the terrible reality tv that they watch from Nanao’s tablet, and watch cute animal videos on Rangiku’s phone.

It’s pretty standard fare for Rukia, a slightly early heat notwithstanding.

All the scientific journals state that keeping a routine during a heat is important which is why spending a heat with a knot isn’t recommended especially for your first time, unless you were mated, planning to be mated, or even that you’d maintain the arrangement for every heat. Rukia’s had none of those.

She’s used to spending her heat being pampered and sleeping through it with only some aggravation and irritation throughout the week that everyone just politely ignores in favor of throwing either blankets or food at her.

It occurs to Rukia then that she’d been silly for even considering asking Ichigo to help with her heat.

She’s never spent a heat getting knotted, why should that change now? What would he even do during her heat anyway besides play with her hair and be her body pillow for a couple of days, as she’s accustomed to?

“Change is good,” Nanao says.

“Besides,” Rangiku adds, casually, “you already know you’re a fan of his _ahem_ equipment.”

Whining to Nanao, Rukia moans, “What, you aren’t going to yell at her for that?”

“It’s true though.” The other omega shrugs. “Plus, you like him, and with all the things you’ve told us about him –”

Startled, Rukia asks, “Told? I didn’t tell you anything about him!” Rangiku makes a face, and Rukia demands, “When?”

“A couple of hours ago,” Nanao replies.

“Like, two, after the whole Inoue thing,” Rangiku snickers. “If anyone thought you only wanted Ichigo for his knot, they just need to hear you wax poetic about how annoying you find him but how you still think his eyes are pretty.”

Even Nanao snickers at that.

And just.

Urgh.

“I hate my heat,” Rukia groans. “I don’t even remember that.” Not that it’s particularly surprising, her heat is usually spent in a daze that’s half dream anyway. Although:

“I have it on video if you want. You’re monologuing into an ice-cream carton. It’s great,” Nanao says, still coolly nonchalant to Rangiku’s cackle.

_Ugh._

Nanao sniffs. “Tatsuki thought it was adorable.”

At that, Rukia perks up, and looking around to find the alpha absent, asks, “Where is Tatsuki?” Then, a little more urgently, “How is she?”

“She’s fine,” Rangiku waves off.

“After she took Inoue outside, she didn’t come back for a while,” Nanao adds, “but she was just making sure Inoue got to the omega dorms administration office alright.”

At that Rangiku huffs. “She should’ve just thrown her out her ass. I can’t believe Inoue hit you.”

Reflexively, Rukia touches her cheek and then shakes her head, a little baffled. “I didn’t really feel it?”

“Your head turned,” Nanao reminds flatly, “you definitely felt it.” Again, Rangiku huffs. “Anyway,” Nanao continues, “After Tatsuki made sure Inoue had a place to stay however temporary, she came back to get Inoue’s stuff.”

Alarmed at the thought that this entire episode has set Tatsuki on the path to fall under Inoue’s influence once more, Nanao is quick to soothe her, “Don’t worry, Tatsuki’s on her way back.”

“From where?” Rukia asks, still a little apprehensive.

“She’s off providing for us, as is her biological urge,” Rangiku sighs, and Nanao rolls her eyes to reply with, “She’s getting us dinner.”

Dinner?

Rukia squints at her. “How long has it been?”

Checking her phone, Nanao dutifully informs, “About five hours. How are you feeling?”

At that, Rukia groans. “Like this heat’s been going on forever,” she states with a furrow in her brow. “What’s going on?”

Nanao hums thoughtfully. “Well, you were really in it a couple of hours ago, but that might’ve been because Ichigo showed up.”

“E-eh?”

“Yeah,” Rangiku says, finally frowning. “About an hour after Inoue left? We thought you told him about your heat, but he showed up all worried.”

“I told him it was almost time but not that it happened considering you know, everything with Inoue.” Rukia sighs. “And what do you mean by worried?”

“Maybe he could tell you were closer than you let on,” Nanao guesses thoughtfully. “It’s pretty common when bonding takes place for partners to know when the other needs them.”

She flushes. “I don’t _need_ him.”

“No, but your omega does,” Rangiku says.

Nanao doesn’t disagree, adding on, “He stayed for an hour to cuddle you, but since we couldn’t ask if you wanted to go with him, he said he’d be back later.”

“I don’t remember that,” Rukia says, only a little worried. Heats didn’t usually lend themselves to forgetfulness, but it’s hard to recall anything when she’s always in a dreamy haze. She does recall feeling particularly safe and comfortable, all cocooned and happy before falling into darkness.

She remembers hearing his voice. She remembers the comforting squeeze of Ichigo’s arms around her.

She’d known he was there.

“When you woke up a couple of hours after he left was when you treated us to your verbal dissertation on Ichigo’s eu de Christmas,” Rangiku teases.

Whatever Rukia could say to defend against that is forgotten when they hear the front door open and Tatsuki call out, “I’m back.”

Perking up, Rangiku cheers, “Oooh! Food! Let’s go, can you stand?” And for all of Rangiku’s excitement, she waits for Rukia to reply, and chatters about how she’d talked Tatsuki into getting takeout at her favorite restaurant, and that she’s been craving _absolutely craving_ it for weeks as she and Nanao help Rukia out of the room and into the living room.

The couch has been turned into a makeshift nest of blankets, pillows, with some clothing from each member of the occupants of the house. It smells similar to the one she’d woken up to in her room.

A makeshift nest her housemates have made for her when she couldn’t make it for herself.

It’s an uncommon occurrence given that Rukia’s usually prepared enough to do it herself, but that her friends had done it for her makes her chest feel warm.

After Tatsuki grasps her in a hug and scent marks her in greeting, the four of them make themselves comfortable in the living room, Nanao squishing herself beside Rukia on the couch while Rangiku and Tatsuki sit around them – Rangiku on the diagonal single chair and Tatsuki on the floor, leaning against both Nanao and Rukia’s legs.

“Good?” Tatsuki confirms, and Rukia nods, grateful that nothing was ruined between them from the revelation of hours earlier.

As they all fight over dumplings and yell at the tv because Tatsuki has a fondness for shitty reality tv and they all suck at convincing her to watch something else, Nanao interjects during a commercial break to say, “I have a theory.”

Around a mouthful of noodles, Rangiku mumbles, “About?”

“Rukia and Ichigo,” Nanao says, “you’re bonding.”

“Yes, we’ve figured that out,” Tatsuki says with a snicker that pulls a laugh from Rangiku and a nervous giggle from Rukia.

“And maybe,” Nanao continues, “that’s why your sense of time has shifted. You’re usually quite regular with your heats, almost down to the hour.”

“You said yourself that could’ve been stress,” Rukia reminds.

She allows that, but, “When he actually came here to see you, you calmed down a lot and you slept better and deeper. You reacted differently than when it was just Tatsuki, you barely slept ten minutes when she came back earlier, so it isn’t just a need for an alpha. It’s a need for Ichigo specifically.”

“And what that means is,” Rangiku trails curiously.

Nanao opens her mouth to answer, but a knock on the door interrupts her.

Suddenly wary because everyone that needs to be at the apartment is there, they all glance at each other.

Rangiku mouths, “Inoue?”

They glance at Tatsuki who shakes her head, and then gets up to answer it when another knock comes, a little more hesitantly this time.

“Did Inoue come back while I was asleep?” Rukia asks.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Nanao declares, following after Tatsuki with a determined stride that falters when Tatsuki is stepping aside in the doorway to let Ichigo in.

“Oh,” Rangiku trails again, and it’s so much worse to see both Tatsuki and Nanao echoing the suggestion in her words that Rukia immediately flushes and declares to the room at large, “Shut up.”

Tatsuki ignores her to smirk, beckoning to Rangiku and saying, “We’ll give you the room then.”

“Just for like ten minutes,” Rangiku says, and with a disapproving finger waggle, she adds, “No funny business. I nap on that couch.”

Rukia hopes her face isn’t conveying _too late_ , but it doesn’t matter because they’re all shooting looks at Ichigo that probably varies from _I’m watching you!_ to _Get it!_ Internally she groans, and mentally chants, _I love my friends, I love my friends, I love my friends –_

“How are you feeling?” Ichigo interrupts.

“Ah, I’m fine,” Rukia squeaks, face going warm from a combination of her thoughts and the obvious concern Ichigo’s conveying. “Just…you know, having a day. Uh, w-what are you doing here?”

“Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I…wanted to check up on you. Even though Tatsuki told me you guys have it handled, I just – I wanted to make sure. And uh, here.” Bundled up in his arms is a cardigan – the same one she’d seen him wear on their date a few days ago. When she doesn’t immediately take the offer, too preoccupied by the fact that she can’t…smell him anymore? Is he wearing blockers? Ichigo says, “I know you didn’t ask me to spend your heat with you or anything, but I thought this might help?” 

“I wasn’t supposed to start my heat until tomorrow,” she says instead.

His brows furrow in confusion, but he doesn’t say anything else so Rukia swallows and admits with a wince. “I was going to ask you if I could spend it with you, but uh…it felt weird after I yelled at you on the phone?”

His ears pink up. “Oh, uh – no, I get that.” Then, after a pause, “I don’t mind…helping you through it, if that’s what you want.” Adding a little hurriedly, “Not that we have to do anything. Tatsuki told me how you usually spend your heats so we could do that.”

Rukia’s cheeks hurt a little from how much she’s smiling, and her soft laugh only makes him flush harder.

Her non-answer though gets a bedroom door to open in the hallway her housemates disappeared into; Tatsuki reappearing with a slightly annoyed expression. Both Ichigo and Rukia blink in confusion as Tatsuki thrusts a bag she’d brought out with her into Ichigo’s arms.

“Her clothes, her favorite Chappy, her toiletries.” Then, with a look Rukia’s way, “And condoms, if you’re so inclined, courtesy of Rangiku.”

On cue, Rangiku yells, “Make safe choices!”

With a smirk, Tatsuki cheerfully orders, “Get out.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. All of it. If it isn't your thing, please feel free to skip this chapter.

Because it's Heat 101 that an omega would want to be with their alpha, it doesn't surprise Rukia one bit that she doesn't feel all that jolted to find that she's just as comfortable with Ichigo in proximity as she had been surrounded by her housemates. Even if they've only just recently 'became an actual thing', Rukia would take comfort – _be happy –_ to just have Ichigo around – his scent, his clothes, _him_.

Even slightly sticky from the sudden drizzle outside.

She feels more clear-headed, definitely, than she had around her housemates. And noticeably less sleepy on top of that.

Strangely too, Rukia doesn't feel as irritated or annoyed as she would usually be. In fact, she feels wired – twitchy – restless in waves that are leagues ahead of how she'd feel during any other heat.

Then again, she's never spent her heat around a compatible alpha before.

It should panic her that they're apparently so far long in their bonding that the nature of her heat has shifted, but instead Rukia's more concerned about other things. Like the fact that even though Ichigo _legitimately carried her from her apartment to his_ that she can't smell him.

Which is crazy.

Usually, at this distance there was no hiding his scent, and his scent is about the only thing missing from keeping her dumb lizard-omega brain from outright purring.

It's bad enough that Ichigo looks like himself.

It's even worse when he's being sweet and showing off like this; Rukia can feel the subtle shift and roll of his muscles around her and –

Ichigo's just locked the door behind him when, nose pressed against his chest, she asks with a confused murmur, "Why can't I scent you?"

He stops his trek deeper into the apartment, and thanks to the one arm he has looped beneath her thighs in a princess carry – because Rukia's life is apparently an omega cliché – Ichigo can't rub his neck in embarrassment, he stutters instead, "I…uh, didn't want to do anything to trigger your heat or make you react negatively when I visited so I wore blockers."

"They're strong," she declares with a pout.

"I took another shower and reapplied them fresh."

She blinks. "Both times you visited?"

"Ah," he nods because he's ridiculous and thoughtful.

Then, Rukia ventures, "Can you…scent me?"

He clears his throat, avoids eye contact, and admits, "You're covered in everyone else's scent though – Tatsuki and Rangiku's, and Nanao, I think?"

She hums. The thrill to poke and prod and tease, daring her to ask sweetly, "And does that…bother you?"

It should.

Not only is she an omega in heat, she's technically _his_ omega in heat. Ichigo shouldn't want anyone else's scent on her but his own, but of course, with his blockers, he's not giving anything off.

Rukia doesn't have that problem.

She's probably releasing so many pheromones right now, it's a miracle he hasn't tried to have his way with her already. The thought makes her spine tingle in anticipation.

When he finally meets her gaze, his face flushes so red it warms his skin down the collar of his shirt, and he tries to scowl around his embarrassment. Wrapped in his arms and in his cardigan, she peers innocently up at him. Ichigo isn't fooled for a second. "You really are just here to torture me, aren't you?"

"Only torture if you don't like it," she sings, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she's climbing out of his arms, legs already trembling and saying, "I should probably shower off then. This way, right?"

Ichigo releases her easily, his eyes widening as she slides the cardigan down her shoulders so they pool at her feet before she turns for the bathroom, hands already curled around the hem of her shirt to toss it off before he makes an almost pained noise.

A teasing laugh wants to bubble out of her like the effervescent bubbles of a freshly uncorked champagne, but she smothers it to ask, "Yes?"

He looks a lot more serious, a lot more hesitant. "Is that…what you want?"

Her hands drop from her shirt, and she blinks at him, surprised. With more patience than she's used to, Ichigo reminds, "You usually spend your heat _not_ doing that, and I don't want to change things in your routine if that's not what you want. We really can just…spend it in bed."

In a completely not sexual situation, if she wants, is what Rukia hears, and she has to physically resist the urge to beam at him. _He's adorable._

"We could," she agrees, walking back to him to smooth the fists he's made of his hands at his sides, to stop the urge to take and take and take like he probably wants to.

"I wouldn't say no though to you showering everyone else's scents off," he admits, and Rukia presses a kiss against the knuckles she raises to her lips, and smiles.

"Will you help?"

She watches his Adam's Apple bob, fascinated; hungry. "We haven't tried shower sex yet, and I'm incredibly curious." Just thinking about all that golden skin, the rivets of water that would slide down his body –

"Rukia…"

"I've never spent a heat with someone before," she reminds unnecessarily, just barely shaking herself free from the daze of her fantasy. Her voice a low purr. "I'm not sure…if I want a knot. But. I do know I want you." Then, on tiptoes, she asks against his mouth, "Do you want me?"

His exhale is warm, and the hands he wraps around her hips – to grope her ass – to hold her to him – is hot through her clothes.

He licks at her lips, and even without his rut, his mouth is delicious.

Over her happy little sighs and the rumbling of his chest, Ichigo murmurs, "Take off your clothes."

Rukia grins and complies, though gets about as far as stripping off her shirt before he's tugging her pants off and lifting her off the ground, her legs winding around his hips, thighs already poised over the already hard, hot head of him through his jeans.

Her surprised gasp morphs into a moan that's punched out of her when he walks her to the wall to support her weight, her back arching as he finds that spot on her neck that sends her pulse throbbing.

His breath flutters like a butterfly's wings over her skin as he thrusts up into the tease of her tightness; the heat of him at the apex of her melts her from the inside out. The friction rough through the quickly dampening fabric between them; meeting his momentum with her own as she finds purchase against the firm pressure of his belt right there, right there, right there –

Ichigo swallows her every gasp and mewl, and with a deft hand, he unclips her bra, casting it on the floor to join her shirt and his cardigan.

His rough, large hand grazes over her peaked nipples before he's taking a handful and squeezing, thumb worrying the nub with pinches and little twists in time with her rocking against him. A fizzle of electricity creeps and crawls up and down her spine until it gathers and liquefies at her core.

Outside there's a crackle of thunder, a flash of lightning before the drizzle outside is a torrent crashing over the building in a sob.

Rukia breaks in just the same way.

Ichigo's lips nip, nip, nip down her bared naked as he slides her down the wall; sliding her ruined underwear off until she's bare to him in every way.

With her entirely naked, and him not at all; he keeps her spread over his lap where he's still hard beneath his jeans. His gaze is molten as he catches his breath, and when he replaces oxygen with her lips, her stuttered breath matches the jerk of her hips as his thumb strokes at her clit – touch careless and gentle despite the way his presence surrounds her, threatening to smother.

But.

It's comforting rather than suffocating.

Rukia wants him closer – close enough that there is no space between them, until somehow, she manages to scent him through his blockers which are intolerably strong that all she can make out is the smell of herself all over him.

It's the opposite of how this should go, but the thought of Ichigo smelling like her instead is intoxicating.

Ichigo himself doesn't seem to mind the reversal.

Quiet and rough, his voice is reverent, "You're so wet."

Her sex pants, greedily swallowing up the digits he probes between her slick folds as his thumb continues to circle and caress. Every retreat of his fingers, two now, sends her gushing like an overripe peach, and he watches enraptured, licking his lips like he so badly wants to taste.

And because he has no sense at all for her state of mind, his mouth curls in a sinful smirk as he declares, "I'm going to eat you out this entire goddamn heat."

She blames the twist of his fingers, and his thumb that's found what he's looking for in the whimper she makes. Not that she's fooling anyone when she whines a second later, "You can't tell me that when you're still wearing way too many clothes."

"Well, you still smell like other people," he retorts, but the intensity in his eyes say that he intends to thoroughly fix that soon enough.

Whether it's with his scent or her own.

In answer, almost viciously he thrusts his fingers in harder as he leans close again to kiss her; mouth moving down to the hitch of her jaw, below the skin of her ear. "We'll fix that, won't we?"

Rukia's answering scream is muffled by a crash of thunder, her body rolling firm and unrelenting in time to it over his clothed dick, her toes curling as he shudders and sags against her.

When they both come down, still breathless and panting, Rukia notices, to her embarrassment, "I ruined your pants."

Ichigo gives her a look that's unrepentant, and with a roll of her eyes, she loops her near life-less arms around his neck and prods, "Ruin me instead."

At that, he huffs out a breath that's shocked before he's chuckling and pressing their foreheads together. "You're insatiable."

"You like me this way."

He hums, his eyes like honey as he presses a kiss to her forehead, impossibly sweet. "Let's get cleaned up."

Even though she'd been the one suggesting it earlier, Rukia intones, "Yes alpha."

That earns her a growl, and legs still unsteady post-orgasm or not, Ichigo stands to carry her again, sweeping her down the hall and into the bathroom.

She shivers as he presses her against the cool tile, and watches with half-lidded eyes as he steps away.

Gasping a little in surprise as he turns the rain shower on, the cool water gradually warming around her beneath its spray, she watches him slip off his shirt – biceps, pectorals, and abdomen flexing and pulling deliciously before he reaches for his belt.

The sound if it coming undone is louder than a gunshot, and Rukia finds herself enamored by the way the leather snaps out of the loops of his jeans, how Ichigo's skin is a shade or two paler beneath his boxers than the rest of him; how even soft, the sight of his cock makes something in her ache.

The water is perfect, and he beckons her beneath it with an offered hand.

Rukia sighs as he gathers her in his arms, nuzzling against his chest as the shower beats down on them gently from above. Beneath the water's spray, she peers up at him to find moisture clinging to his lashes, gathering in little puddles in the divots of his collarbone before trailing trickling waterfalls down his chest, his abdomen. Between his legs, his cock twitches under her attention.

She only lifts her head when his chuckle echoes along the wall, and then he's drawing her in to kiss her.

It's nothing like their kisses earlier – this is exploring, undemanding – there are fewer teeth, less claim, no rush – Ichigo sucks on her tongue as his hands mold themselves along her neck, cupping her scalp and sliding his fingers through her hair before he traces the bumps of her spine, the softness of her hips before squeezing at her ass.

They stand there for what might be hours, or minutes; who's to say?

In this room there's nothing but them; their quiet murmurs and soft laughs as they read the braille of each other's bodies; washing away everything of the outside world that isn't the other.

Eventually, Ichigo rouses enough to turn Rukia gently to the wall. To give her hair a cursory wash, to soothe the still-tense muscles of her shoulders, to mold his hands against the pliant clay of her breasts and her abdomen; her hips, her thighs.

His hands are warm and familiar, and they play her body's pleasure as if it's all its made for.

Rukia doesn't realize she's moaning and fucking into his hand between her legs until her head is thrown back on Ichigo's shoulder, begging over the rush in her ears and the water falling around them for _more, more please Ichigo…_

The steam from their shower has made the room humid, and Rukia feels more like a mirage than an actual person with nothing but her ecstasy and Ichigo to say she even exists at all.

And he does.

The reminder he's taken up like an oath.

Her name from his tongue is profane and covetous at once.

As he presses her gently into tiles. As he spreads her legs and hitches her thighs, and sheathes himself full and hot and thick she feels fit to burst.

The thrum of it, the push and pull of them together is seamless; from affectionate and intimate to breathlessly ravenous, they're consumed by the other until there's nothing to separate their souls but the water on their skins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is almost at 50k and I can't fucking believe it. It's been less than a month since I started writing this story, what the fuck.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut? Why not. Plot continues after the dialogue, "You know..."

Somehow the shower ends, and before Rukia can contemplate the truly awful thought of having to get out and face what comes after, she’s wrapped in the biggest bath towel she’s ever seen, and ushered into Ichigo’s room.

She feels suddenly shy; vulnerable, and alone for the first time since her heat began.

Though it isn’t for long.

Ichigo follows her into his room soon after, his own towel wrapped around his waist as he dries his hair with another; the movement sending his scent – blocker free – everywhere; pollen in the spring. Like the sun come out, when he enters his room, it smells more like him than it did when they’d stepped in to get to the bathroom: like curling golden leaves and cinnamon.

Despite herself, her body squirms, apparently unsatisfied with three measly orgasms.

She resists the urge to present herself and beg for more.

Not that he’d be surprised.

The literature, while leaving out the ways omegas can non-sexually have their heats alone or otherwise, is clear enough about how heats “should be” spent: Getting knotted. A lot.

And while they haven’t done that during her heat, the sex is apparently enough to have Rukia shaking for more, an addict in need of a hit.

Unaffected, Ichigo gives her his back as he sets aside the towel he used to dry his hair, the easy shift of muscles and the wink of his dimples on his lower back, sufficiently distracting her from the fact that she’s been standing in his room just watching him like an idiot, and thinking of nothing else but wanting to climb his shoulders.

Internally huffing at her own perversion, heat or no heat, Rukia crosses her legs before Ichigo sends her collapsing onto the edge of the bed when he sets aside the towel at his waist.

She’s not necessarily startled by the sight of his ass, but uhm – it’s certainly distracting. She squeezes her legs tighter. It may give her some sense of control in keeping her slick from gushing down her legs, but it's not doing anything for the pheromones she’s giving off.

“Again?”

Her cheeks flare. “Uh…”

Which makes him smirk, the bastard. “You know,” he drawls, “I’ve read about this.”

“Have you?” she tries for casual, hoping he can’t hear the hysterical lilt of her voice. “Because I’ve actually experienced it.”

“Have you?” he echoes, feigning surprise. “Have you ever had sex during your heat?”

She tries to be frosty, but doesn’t quite make it as she answers, “No.” Then, “But I’ve taken care of myself plenty.”

At that he hums, the gold in his eyes darkening. “Really.”

“You alphas aren’t the only ones who’ve found ways to handle their mating cycles,” Rukia huffs with an annoyance she just barely feels beneath the burning of her cheeks, the slick gathering at her inner thighs.

“And what did you think about? You know, to take care of yourself?” Ichigo asks in a way that isn’t a question, not when he’s prowled forward, dick already thickening as he approaches the bed where she’s stubbornly held her ground at the edge of it.

“You’re shameless,” she accuses over her blush.

“I’m learning from you,” he teases, then, musingly he adds, “I do have _many_ things to learn from you, after all.”

Her brows twitch in curious surprise. “Like what?”

“A lot of things,” he says, casual as anything as he traces the outside of her legs. “Like what foods you prefer, or what genre of movies and music you favor. What does Kuchiki Rukia like.” Lifting them so that she lays back, his smirk returns at her squeak of surprise, made to watch him from between her splayed thighs. “What gets Kuchiki Rukia off.”

She feels winded with the way he’s looking at her – like he wants to devour every inch of her – put his mouth to her and _feast_.

Rukia watches him, attention rapt, as he skims the outside of her legs as he lowers himself.

“You know I don’t actually have a kink for seeing you on your knees?” she tries to tease as he tugs her a little closer to the edge of the bed so that from where he’s kneeling, he’s just – _right there_.

“No,” he allows, his exhales tickling the soft skin of her thighs making her shudder as the corner of his mouth flicks up in a smirk. “But I told you I wanted to eat you out during this heat, and I don’t make it a habit to say things I don’t mean.”

Maddeningly, he doesn’t just _do it._

Ichigo takes his time, humming at the way her thighs tremble as he mouths his way from the outside of her thighs inwards. He spreads her leg as he kisses along the limb; higher, and higher, and higher. 

Her heart skitters.

His gaze flicks up to meet hers; his pupils blown out with lust. She feels his murmur more than she hears it as he asks, “Any objections, Rukia?” 

She swallows, trembling from the force of his owning, and replies, “None at all.” Then, with a voice quivering with anticipation, she asks, “Are you gonna ruin me?”

Eyes fluttering shut, Ichigo’s sigh against her skin makes her shiver, and heady with her scent in his lungs and her wet lips before him, he purrs, “Absolutely.”

Ichigo, she has realized, does not take anything he says lightly.

After the quick succession of her first orgasms, Rukia thought she knew what she’d been in for during this heat.

Apparently, Ichigo had other plans.

He has her on the edge for what feels like hours, and when he does make her come, he does it again and again and again.

Evidently, he has a theory he wants to test about how often women can do it consecutively, and then how it's affected by a mating cycle.

She has no evidence that this is what he’s actually doing given that his mouth is occupied with other more important matters, but it’s a fleeting thought that sticks to the roof of her mouth when she’s too wrung out to come anymore, asking, out of breath and trying to blink her vision back, “Are you trying to go for a record here because I’m pretty sure we bypassed it.”

He grunts, and when she feels like her body’s returned from the astral plane he’s sent her to, she finds Ichigo fisting his dick desperately, the head of him practically purple from how hard he is.

With shaky limbs, Rukia rises to reach for him, making a soft noise of apology.

“You don’t have to I’m –”

Looking up at him with dazed eyes, she parts her lips in invitation.

The sound he makes is practically a whimper.

Ichigo’s trembling, trying to stave his own orgasm off, but he takes the time to cup her jaw, tracing his thumb across her lips, sliding it in easily for her to suck. He watches her, transfixed as she kitten-licks the offered digit, her gaze never leaving his. Adam’s Apple bobbing, he gently retracts his thumb from her mouth, and she lets it go with a wet pop, already parting her lips again.

Pushing her gently back against the bed, he crawls over her, his breath hitching as his hard cock caresses the welcoming give of her skin.

There’s something fevered in his eyes, in the way his mouth moves, “Can I…fuck, can I?”

Rukia nods, and at the hand he’s cradling her cheek with, she presses a kiss at the heart of it, and murmurs, “Trust you.”

His inhale is labored, his body quivers, and with a final caress of his knuckles down her cheek, he moves.

Straddling her chest, careful not to put any actual weight on it, with his knees on either side of her head; Ichigo slides his cock between her waiting lips.

Her neck arches, eyes fluttering closed as the world darkens around it until she adjusts her breathing. Only once her eyes have opened again and she’s staring up at him, does he move.

He can’t touch her at this angle, but he strips at his dick as he feeds himself into her; the head of him drooling pre along her tongue until she’s sucking him in earnest, palming at his ass and tugging him forward for _more, more, more._

The groan he makes has his whole body shuddering.

Ichigo hasn’t had a knot yet, careful to keep himself off that ledge since Rukia hadn’t _said_ anything about wanting it, and Ichigo is nothing but accommodating. But she entertains the thought of him knotting her mouth and wonders how it would feel. As good as this, Rukia wonders? As Ichigo murmurs and moans, helpless to the onslaught; she almost chokes a little when he gets too far down her throat, but his thighs won’t stop trembling so she ignores the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes, licks him sloppy and _sucks_.

The only thing that matters is Ichigo and the sounds of his rapture when he finally – finally – comes.

She can’t swallow every drop, much as she tries.

He spills down her lips, her throat, her chest; wet and sticky. He tips off to the side so he doesn’t crush her, and though he’s just as uncoordinated, Ichigo manages to pull her to him.

Shaky from the lack of oxygen, he grasps her easily, nosing into her hair and pressing needless, careless lips to anything he can reach, accidentally spreading the evidence of his spent between them.

Her voice hoarse, Rukia sighs, “So much for the shower.”

Ichigo’s laugh is helpless. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

And that rouses a laugh from her in return. “Are you kidding me? I think you spent at least an hour eating me out.”

“Worth every second, and every drop,” he declares, a kiss on each cheek to punctuate his statement before he’s got his lips against hers.

He tastes strange, but then, so must she.

They taste like each other. They smell like one another. It’s a heady thought. They’re so beyond just bonding, and it’s probably just the afterglow talking, but the idea doesn’t alarm her even without the distraction of sex.

The next two days of her heat have Ichigo between her thighs in some variation, and if he isn’t, he’s wrapped around her, cuddling her on his lap or on their sides in his bed or on the couch.

When they aren’t physically together – either because he’s out getting whatever food she’s craving or they’re individually using the bathroom – Ichigo sacrifices his closet to the cause by providing her with all his clothing to make a nest out of.

It isn’t as nice as having him around to hold her in the half an hour that they’re apart, but all his clothes smell like her now, and she can’t be angry about it.

With the way he looks at her in his shirts – because while it would make sense not to wear any clothes at all, Rukia likes the way his clothes fit her – she doesn’t think Ichigo has any complaints whatsoever.

“You know,” Rukia says, her chin pillowed on his chest. “I could get used to this.”

She thinks it’s almost five in the morning, or something equally ridiculous. It’s still dark out, streetlights on outside of Ichigo’s apartment windows, walls drenched in the navy-blue hue of twilight; the sun has broken from the horizon, slicing the skies in narrow beams of bright golden light.

He hums, running his fingers through her hair. “You need to stop saying things like that as a threat.”

“Isn’t it though?” she teases. “You literally just got a girlfriend, and I’m already making myself at home. Do you even remember what your life was like before you met me?”

Ichigo shrugs. “It was a life. I didn’t know any different. Now I do, and this is my life now.”

“You’re so casual about this,” she complains, poking at his cheek as she teases, “What I’m getting from your behavior is that I could move in, right now, and you’re telling me you won’t even say anything?”

At that, he looks considering, then, “We’re not getting a dog.”

She pouts. “But.”

Snickering, he guides her gently to kiss her lips, and with their noses still brushing against one another, her smile soft and content, he says, “What’s the point of having this with you, if the goal isn’t to give you a reason to stay?”

There’s a sense of inevitability to it; like an uncontrollable chemical reaction, and whatever this is: them, right here, in each other’s arms is the product. It’s enough. It’s good. It’s theirs.

But then there’s a knock on the door.

And Inoue behind it.

And things suddenly aren’t so certain anymore.


	22. Chapter 22

They don’t answer the door right away.

First, they consult their cell phones to confirm it isn’t anyone they actually know. Ichigo’s relieved, “Not my sisters” makes Rukia snicker, and her answering, “Not anyone at mine” result in a shared shrug before he sets his phone aside to roll her over in a hug, spooning her against him and hiding his face in her neck as she laughs.

“C’mon, what if its important?” she prods.

“How?” he mumbles, lashes fluttering against her skin as he nuzzles in; his puff of breath sweet and warm in his dozing.

“What if someone needs help?”

“They can try next door.”

“What if there’s a fire?”

“There’s an alarm for that.”

“What if -”

“Sleep,” he says, reaching around to cover her eyes to more of her giggles. “Whoever they are can go away.”

She makes a face beneath his hand, and tugs his arm around her again, pausing to hear for another knock that doesn’t come. Rukia falls asleep waiting for it. Ichigo, feeling her body grow pliant with drowsiness; soothes his hand beneath her borrowed shirt, humming a kiss into the crown of her hair, and follows suit.

They’re both roused sometime later by more knocking, and Rukia makes a sleepy noise of protest when Ichigo wakes, jostling her.

He pets her absently, murmuring softly in apology, his breath tickling at her skin; his hips tilting against hers reflexively – his cock stiff. 

Her heat ended a few hours ago, but.

Ichigo always feels good against her, and at the tingle of awareness that zings down her spine, and tightens at her core; she rocks back in question, and his intake of breath is sharp. His move to leave the bed sufficiently halted.

It’s all the answer either of them needs.

Over the knocking of the door, she turns over to kiss him sweet and sluggish; sucking on his tongue and nipping at his lips, he chases after every retreat and whispers every plea.

Hitching her leg over his hip, he grinds in, slow and lazy like molasses. Not really aiming to be inside her, just the friction seems enough.

Though, when he does manage to slide his dick between her lips; their breaths shudder, and with another slight adjustment, he sheathes himself with a drawn-out groan. Pulling her leg up tighter around him as he palms her ass, he thrusts; shifting his hips and rolling them back. Rukia meets each with a snap of her own; like tides being tossed, thoughtless and restless against one another.

Unhurried, they move; their entreating murmurs a poetry pressed against each other’s lips, and with their nails on each other’s skin, they write sonnets.

There’s nothing but the sensual rustle of the sheets, the sinuous roll of their bodies, their quiet breaths and the knock-knock-knock of whoever is at the door.

They ignore it, and come as languid as they’d begun.

Even in the bare light they have when their lips part his mouth looks kiss bruised and his eyes hazy with indolent, sated desire.

He rubs his thumb against the curve of her cheek where her smile pulls a little hopelessly, and like he’s drawn helplessly to it, he dips to taste again, and again. 

The knocking doesn’t stop.

“I should get that,” Ichigo says, a little resentful when he’s pulled away. Then, “Stay.”

And though Rukia mumbles her agreement, the bed isn’t as warm without him in it, and she eventually sits up to watch the shadow of him move around the room. He’s more graceful in his own space, though his hair is a disaster that makes her want to bury her fingers in it and mess it up even more.

He forgoes a shirt but slips on a pair of joggers. He settles back on the edge of the bed for a moment, pausing to yawn.

In the scant light that peeks through the gap in the curtain; the marks she’s left on him over the past few days – love bites and bruises and scratches along his shoulders, beside his spine – are blurred across his skin, softened like an oil painting. Even his lips tipping into a smile is a soft, sweet rose smudge, and though she tests its hold against his lips with the thumb she grazes against it, and even her own mouth; his smile only grows more dear. Ichigo’s achingly beautiful.

“I’ll be right back, someone’s probably just lost.”

She nods, more in response to his voice than the words he says.

He chuckles, kisses her forehead and rises.

Ichigo makes it to the door of his bedroom before he glances over his shoulder at her. Gaze lingering on the sheets, on her disarrayed nest empty without him, and her: sleep-rumpled and syrupy slow as she blinks up at him.

Aloud, he wonders, “Do you think they’ll go away on their own?”

The knock, in contradiction comes again.

Her smile is amused. “I don’t think so.”

With a huff and frown, he opens the door.

Chuckling, Rukia untangles herself from the loving cradle of the bed, wrapping the sheets around her like a toga, and pads on after him.

She gets to the hallway just as Ichigo opens the front door, the room's curtains are open, the sun is out. Rukia wonders what time it is.

“Kurosaki-kun!”

Surprised, Ichigo returns, “Inoue?”

“Ah, you remember me,” she says, her voice shy, and when Rukia peeks around the corner, Inoue’s got a blush and she’s poking her index fingers together nervously, her gaze flicking up and down Ichigo’s less than clothed self before she stutters, “I uh, thought I had the wrong apartment!”

Ichigo’s shoulders straighten, body tensing. “How did you find out where I live?”

“Oh,” she gasps, “I…uhm, Yuzu-chan, she -”

Now both Ichigo and Rukia are alarmed, “What happened to Yuzu?”

But Inoue waves her palms in apology, “Ah, ah n-no! Nothing’s wrong with her, I just – uh, I was…oh, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all!” She starts muttering to herself, talking about her silliness, her absent-mindedness. And oh, _I’m not doing this right!_

“Inoue,” he interrupts to demand, “what the hell is going on?”

“Ah,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, and when Ichigo doesn’t relent to give her an out – as anyone else would’ve – to save herself – Inoue takes a breath, straightens (which has the advantage of pushing out her chest) and says, “I wanted to see you.”

Now though, Ichigo’s voice flattens. “Why.”

Her cheeks flare. “I…” she clears her throat, and says, “I really like you, Kurosaki-kun. I always have.” 

His silence is bewildered, though Rukia only really hears the silence of it, as does Inoue as she continues resolutely, “You weren’t interested in having an omega then, you know, when you presented. So, I waited. But I could never find the right time to approach you.”

“Why now?” is Ichigo’s careful reply, and at a sign of his interest, she blushes to her hair and replies, “Yuzu-chan.”

Rukia’s stomach feels like it’s dropped out onto her feet.

Is it possible that after spending time with Inoue outside of her heat that Ichigo’s sister prefers Inoue as his omega instead of Rukia herself?

That’s not fair, a part of her argues, she hadn’t even really gotten a chance to know Yuzu. While another part of her argues that even if it were true, that doesn’t have anything to do with Ichigo anyway, right?

Ichigo’s arms cross. From behind, he looks formidable. Rukia can’t imagine what he looks like from the front.

Oh, wait.

She can.

“Oh, she – she suggested I stay at the omega dorms,” Inoue explains, its such a left-field explanation that the silence stretches awkwardly long before she hastens to explain, “She said she used to stay there too so, uhm, I asked if I could have her room at the building.” Then, scratching her cheek with her index finger Inoue admits, “Her previous information was on file and you were her emergency contact so I just thought…”

“That’s creepy,” he deadpans.

And Rukia is weirdly satisfied by the horrified look on Inoue’s face as she waves her hands. “Ah, ah no – no, I didn’t mean for it to be! I just, I’ve been trying to run into you for so long and I couldn’t -”

Almost blandly, Ichigo interrupts, “Have you ever thought about why?”

“Ah?”

“I knew you liked me.”

Her smile is luminous, but then the realization sets in that if Ichigo knew about her, that he’d actively avoided her then… _“Oh_.”

“I don’t have any experience with omegas if any before Rukia.” Inoue stiffens. “You’re right, I wasn’t looking for one when I presented, and frankly, I wasn’t looking for one at all. Least of all one who just wants me because I’m an alpha.”

At that, Inoue protests, “But Kurosak-kun, that’s not why! I-I know you’re kind, that you love your sisters, that you adored your mother – loved her with all your heart, and that you were devasted when she passed away. I know – I know that you’re so smart, and funny. And that you can be rude but it’s only because you’re so honest.” When Ichigo’s expression doesn’t do what Inoue hopes it does, she grows more desperate, a little hysteric, “I know that you’ve got a scar on your right knee from when you were learning how to ride a bike, that you hate camping ever since you fell into a poison ivy bush, that you smoke with your dad but only at your mother’s grave and -”

“Stop,” he demands. “Just. _Stop_. Did you hear yourself just now? We’ve never spoken before today, and you know all these things about me? Why?”

“I love you,” she says like that’s an explanation for all the lines she’s crossed, the idea that it might be only makes Ichigo grow more stoic.

“None of that is love.”

“But Kurosaki-kun –”

“You broke Tatsuki’s heart and you violated my sister’s privacy,” he reminds her; his voice going sharp. “Was I suppose to thank you for that? Was I supposed to find it flattering that you’d hurt people for my attention?”

At a loss, she flounders, “I…I didn’t -”

“Why did you do this?”

“I love -”

“That’s not a reason,” he interjects again. “You wouldn’t have hurt the people I cared about if you did. If you actually knew me at all.”

“Your favorite color is – Your favorite food is –” Inoue tries, and Rukia winces.

His sigh interrupts her this time, and tears gather in Inoue’s eyes, but Ichigo is unyielding, “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. You don’t love me. You can’t.”

“But I do – I do!”

“You don’t -”

“Then I can,” she argues, reaching for him. “please, Kurosak-kun. I can – I can learn! I’ll…I’ll be everything you want – I -”

“No.”

She startles at that, recoils almost completely.

“You shouldn’t try to be everything I want; you are who you are and someone should love you just as you are. Hell, someone already has.” At that, he sounds sad, disappointed. Rukia forgets that she and Rangiku weren’t the only ones intimately familiar with Tatsuki’s heartbreak. Then, as if to clarify who he means, Ichigo says, “And even if Tatsuki didn’t love you. I think I already love someone else.”

Rukia’s heart jumps to her throat.

Inoue’s voice cracks, “Kuchiki-san?

He nods.

Then, with an almost rueful smile through her tears, Inoue says, “She’s not a good omega, Kurosaki-kun.” In the same tones one would say _you’ll regret it, you know._ Then Inoue says, almost pityingly, “It’s just her heat making you feel like this.”

Rukia tenses.

As if to offer him comfort, Inoue reaches out to touch his elbow and says softly, soothingly, “You’ll get over it.”

Ichigo shrugs her off easily, and from the slight angle Rukia has of him, his expression is thunderous. But Inoue is endlessly patient, her smile kind. “It happened with Tatsuki-chan, Kurosaki-kun. It’s okay.” Sweetly she adds, “It was so nice of you to have taken Kuchiki-san in during her heat, but you don’t have to settle for her.”

He exhales noisily, reaches for the door and flatly tells her, “Get out of my apartment building.”

Inoue looks surprised to have the door shut on her, but Ichigo just seems annoyed. An expression that shutters when he notices Rukia standing there, and then closes entirely as she backs away.

“Rukia -”

“Did you mean it?” she interrupts.

And though his cheeks flush, and he reaches up to rub at his neck, he doesn’t deny it. “You heard that, huh?”

“You love me,” Rukia says softly.

“I might,” he says, “Or I’m going to. Or I already do.”

There's a happiness that bubbles in her chest, but it sours as she exhales. She hesitates, then, “What if…Inoue’s right?” What if it’s just hormones? What if it’s just her heat? What if all of this is temporary?

There’s something that breaks behind Ichigo’s eyes. He looks away.

Her heart twists.

Rukia thinks of her parents. They may not experience heat cycles, being betas, and arranged marriage or not, they must’ve liked each other enough to have _two kids_ instead of just stopping at Byakuya-niisama. Before her father withdrew entirely. Before her mother turned to buying things and interfering in everyone else’s lives to give her something to do.

She wonders if her mother had been hopeful that her marriage would be good, and loving, and happy. Rukia wonders how long that hope lasted.

“It’s not that I don’t…believe you. But there could be other reasons,” Rukia explains, and her breath comes out defeated, though she looks up at him imploringly, begging for him to understand where she's coming from, “I have to…I have to be sure, Ichigo.”

He blinks once, twice. There's a determined clench in his jaw.

“How do I convince you?”

“How…?”

“I can’t make you believe me, but I can give you every reason to.” He closes the distance between them, squeezes her hand, and from the sun that’s out and reflecting in his eyes, he asks, “What will it take?”

Rukia blinks, wonders at his certainty, hopes it’s true, and breathes.


	23. Chapter 23

“Rukia, dear, you’ve barely touched your tea,” her mother tuts.

She’s a diminutive woman, her mother, and that’s coming from _Rukia_ , but the weight of her disappointment is heavy, and Rukia swallows down the contents of her teacup and tastes nothing but ash in her mouth.

Her mother always wants to see her after her heat.

It’s as close to a regular meeting between the two of them as anything is since Rukia moved out of the family home after her first year in college. It’s not a bad trade-off, in hindsight, but this time? Not so much.

“How was your heat this month, dear?”

“Good,” she manages, most of it was good. All of it, really. If she’s being technical. Afterward was the problem. But her mother isn’t asking about after, is she?

Her mother hums, then with a flick of her brow over her teacup, she asks, “So, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

Rukia makes an acknowledging noise.

“I didn’t actually meet him, but I assume it’s his scent I’m getting from you?” she continues to prod, much too used to having to pry information out of her only daughter. Or really, everyone in her family. Rukia’s father could get away with about five words in an entire visit when he deigns to make an appearance in any capacity. And Rukia is convinced that Byakuya-niisama doesn’t talk, _period_. Which works out great because Renji – and Hisana, when she’d still been alive – never shut up.

Rukia isn’t much different, and fortunately for her, her mother likes the sound of her own voice, “I was shocked when a Shiba representative called me to arrange to meet you on behalf of Ichigo.”

Her brow twitches a bit in surprise because – a branch of the famous Shiba family or not –Ichigo doesn’t seem like the type to know the protocols attributed to the elite her mother is so enamored by.

“But if he’s the same young man you experienced a rut with earlier this year, then I’m surprised he even made the effort,” her mother tsks, even though Rukia knows she’s tickled pink at the _ceremony_ of it all, the _romance_ of it.

“You must like him,” she adds, and beneath the table, Rukia’s fist tightens on her knee. Because. She does but.

After spending her heat with him, after Inoue had come; Ichigo had given her space. Something she asked for, something she’s struggling not to regret.

It had been hard to lie on opposite ends of the bed, not touching as they had been for the duration of her heat. It felt like a rejection. And in a way, it was.

Ichigo had been quiet. Quieter than she’s used to.

There hadn’t been much talking once he’d dismissed Inoue, after all. But he’d been a gentleman. He hadn’t made any advances and hadn’t talked about anything of consequence since, though Rukia’s seen him open his mouth as if to try.

He’d left a few hours later – only to get them breakfast – and then, after eating, he’d taken her back to her apartment because of her appointment with her mother that had to be made. It’s the least Rukia can do, her mother’s lonelier than Rukia wants to think about.

Thankfully, by the time Rukia got back to the apartment, Rangiku was still asleep, and Tatsuki had apparently gone for a run if the note she left on the fridge was to be believed.

Inoue, as another saving grace, hadn’t managed to wrangle herself back into their home while Rukia was away.

Rukia would take it.

It’s only been a few hours since she’d been apart from Ichigo. The time would be less if she’d gone from Ichigo’s to the tea house her mother likes, but.

She’d told him they needed space from each other because biology was biology, and while the response of hormones tended to be reliable to a point, it didn’t translate to long term feelings.

Still, Rukia doesn’t like the silence or the distance between them, nor the squirmy feeling in her chest where her heart is. Like the organ’s grown a limb and is reaching out for something that isn’t there so it’s taken to tugging at her ribcage because it doesn’t know when to quit.

“Are you going to see him after this?” Her mother prods, a tinge of a giggle in her voice.

“No.”

At that, she frowns. “Did you not like him?”

“I did,” and without thinking, Rukia adds, “That’s why.”

She splutters, “But-but that’s exactly why you should be together right now! Oh, dear, I didn’t interrupt your plans of being with him today, did I? I would’ve understood, you know! I’m familiar enough with how courting works!”

“Temporary bonds don’t necessitate permanence,” Rukia reminds – even though people certainly thought that was how it worked. That’s how all the romance novels tell it, anyway, and the official literature isn’t much better.

The science isn’t solid. There are too many factors to consider that can’t be quantified.

But pushing a temporary bond until it becomes permanent through prolonged contact is a common enough practice.

It doesn’t make the feelings of either people any less true, though.

“If you think feelings are permanent, dear, I have a flying horse to sell you,” her mother tuts. “Feelings are the most temporary things of all. I should know.” She sips her tea, wets her lips, and sighs. “I thought my life was over when my parents arranged for me to marry your father, you know.” Rukia is startled, but her mother remains unruffled. “I alternated between angry and sad long after we got married, and I thought that would be my life from then on. But it wasn’t.”

At Rukia’s look, her mother chuckles. “We didn’t fall in love, your father and I. But we understood each other well enough, after a time. We didn’t want to hurt one another and we didn’t want each other to be unhappy. In a way, I suppose, it is love, fundamentally.” With a fond smile, she adds, “Why do you think he indulges my whims? Why do you think I don’t drag him about?”

Rukia has no answer, her cheeks flush with embarrassment at all the assumptions she’s made of her parents.

Her mother seems to understand, tilting her head with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Our relationship is not conventional, though considering how it began, one couldn’t expect it to be. Our feelings from the beginning to now have changed, but that’s not always a bad thing.”

“If you hated having your marriage arranged,” Rukia finally asks, “why did you try to arrange it for me?”

She tsks. “I was worried.” Then, “I thought after what happened with Hisana-san passing away, how heartbroken your niichan was, that you wouldn’t try and risk it yourself. I thought you needed a little…push. Don’t look at me like that – your father and I weren’t actually going to make you marry any of them! I was quite serious about this being a networking endeavour, you know.”

Shaking her head, Rukia reminds, “Byakuya-niisama is happy though.” At her mother’s pinched expression, Rukia tries not to lose her temper as she says, “You may not like what his happiness looks like, but he has it. That should be enough for you, shouldn’t it?”

With a begrudging sigh, she mutters, “I suppose.”

Then, after a long while of just sipping their tea, her mother ventures, “Are feelings really the only reason you’re planning to avoid Ichigo?”

Rukia opens and closes her mouth wordlessly, avoids her gaze for a time until she accidentally catches the pitying look in her mother’s eye, and finds that she can’t look away when her mother asks softly, “Oh, dear, are you scared?”

Her expression crumples and falls for a moment before her mask reforms and she admits in whisper, “I’m terrified.”

“Oh,” her mother coos. Then, “Does he make you smile, laugh? Does he care about you?”

When she nods, her mother reaches over to squeeze her hand. “Then, what are you afraid of?”

Rukia thinks of the pain Inoue had put Tatsuki through, of Ichigo’s mother passing away and his father struggling, of Byakuya-nissama losing Hisana. The answer is easy, “That it’ll hurt.”

“It might,” her mother admits. “But that hurt won’t last. Nothing’s ever meant to. But if the only thing holding you back is the pain that will come somewhere in the future, is it really worth wasting precious time agonizing over it now?”

“His parents were true mates,” Rukia finally says and at that, the surprise and shock are so immediate on her mother’s face that Rukia laughs, “ _Yeah_.” Then, “I just…he had _that_ as his base for companionship, and I’m not…we’re not…”

“True mates?” Her mother guesses.

Rukia nods. “What if…what if he wonders what would’ve happened if he didn’t choose me? If he waited? What if he does have a true mate out there, and he settled for me?”

“Rukia,” her mother says, soft but firm. “There is nothing to settle for when it comes to you. You are brilliant and funny and bright and beautiful and -”

“You’re my mom,” Rukia reminds, cheeks warm, “you’re supposed to say that.”

“Well, I do get some of the credit,” she declares with a sniff, so snobby all of a sudden that Rukia laughs. Her mother smiles and pats her hand again. “Has he ever made you feel like he was settling? Has he…said that you should do certain things a certain way? Dress, or eat, or speak or…does he criticize you? Does he say careless things that make you feel small?”

She considers, even though she knows the answer anyway, “No, no, he doesn’t.”

“Then, I think, dear, that you’re just letting your insecurities get in the way.” Her mother shakes her head. “If he’s never given you any indication that he wants a true mate, why would you think he does?”

She shrugs, helpless. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“That is the fairytale,” her mother admits, but adds, with a shake of her head. “You should let him make his own choices, and you should make your own – not based on your insecurities or assumptions on what he wants, but on what _you want_. Not everyone has that opportunity, dear, use it. Perhaps time apart is good after all.” With a wink she adds, “You do know best.”

Rukia doesn’t think she does, but. It feels good to have someone think so.

“I was thinking,” she begins, phone pressed to her ear and already pacing her room.

“Uh oh,” Ichigo returns, though Rukia thinks she can hear the way his mouth has upturned around the corners because hers is doing the same. With an internal huff at her own ridiculousness, Rukia shushes him and continues, “I was thinking that maybe we should do this long distance.”

“Long-distance?”

“Calls, text messages, email – that sort of thing.”

“Really?” he sounds a little bewildered, but he isn’t shooting down the idea. And he had said he would do what it took, didn’t he?

“I thought you’d like to confirm that I don’t just like you for your body,” she teases, and that makes him snort. “Besides, with everything going on, I’ve been putting off my studies and I need to catch up without your _everything_ distracting me,” which isn’t a lie. It’s a damn miracle she’s been able to keep her head and pay attention in class with everything going on not just with Ichigo in the mix, but at home with Inoue and Tatsuki, and her mother’s string of suitors.

“Yeah, I get that,” Ichigo says. Then, hesitantly, “This isn’t…you trying to ghost me though, is it?”

“If I was going to ghost you, I wouldn’t have told you in advance, now would I?” Self-deprecatingly, she adds, “Besides, you know I’m perfectly capable of freezing you out with no warning, and I figured if we’re going to do this, I should do better in telling you things. You know, communication is healthy in a relationship.”

At that, there’s a pause, but he sounds relieved, “Okay.” Then, “And that…thing that happened, that thing you heard last night.”

The elephant in the room; the eavesdropped on almost-confession. She catches her reflection in the mirror, sees the bright pink of her ears and across her cheeks, and admits, “I can’t say it back yet, but. It’s there. It is.” Then, with a fortifying sigh that still sounds a little shaky, Rukia says, “We’re reading the same book, you’re just a little bit more ahead than I am.”

His exhale is gusty, and then there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice, “Makes sense considering you’re behind on homework.”

Feigning offense, her smile hurting her cheeks, Rukia gives a cursory protest, “Hey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost to the end~ Though I still have to write it so maybe I shouldn't celebrate so soon lol 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day? This isn't an April Fool's joke!

Of course, when they actually mutually decide to keep their distance from one another, it's easier said than done.

Their routines don't change – they don't run into each other on campus – but there's something about acknowledging the bond that makes them feel like they're connected by a tether – a string. It feels deceptively fragile for the way they test it with the physical distance imposed by their normal lives, but they feel it nonetheless.

Ichigo always sounds a little strained when they talk over the phone, and Rukia isn't unaffected herself.

It shows.

Tatsuki's already complained more than once that they've both been lingering around her a little too much; being the common acquaintance between them, and therefore carrying the other's lingering scents.

"How long are you two gonna be apart?" she moans. "If it isn't constantly sniffing me, you're both moody like you're going through puberty all over again!"

"We are not," Rukia opposes with a scowl that feels like it proves Tatsuki's point, and from her look, _it does._ "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Tatsuki says easily. "You should be nicer to me; I'm playing delivery girl for you!" Then presenting her with a box, she wiggles her offering until Rukia accepts it.

"A delivery," Rukia echoes, "from who?"

"Who do you think?" Tatsuki snickers. "If it's a sex thing, though I'm gonna kill him for making me deliver it."

Rukia snorts. Upon opening it though, her eyes go misty.

"Oh god, is that a Chappy?" Tatsuki demands over her shoulder, and embarrassingly, Rukia blubbers, "Not just any Chappy – the Anniversary Edition Chappy!"

Tatsuki pauses, then groans. "Oh god, it's the same date as you guys meeting at the Sand Dollar isn't it?"

She almost drops the box. "Is it?" Rukia demands, then breathes in shock, "Oh my god, I forgot our anniversary."

"Anniversary is yearly, and it's only been like three months," Tatsuki reminds, her eye twitching, but Rukia isn't moved, she's setting aside the special edition Chappy and looking up gifts online, to Tatsuki's horror. "Oh god, you two are gross."

Which is fair, but also doesn't stop either of them from using Tatsuki as their go-between – delivering everything from novelty mugs and various first edition books Rukia's roped her brother into finding for her, and Ichigo sending her wine and a pair of shoes which may or may not be a hint of a sex thing, but Tatsuki doesn't have to know that.

There are other more innocuous gifts:

Rukia sends him flowers because she thinks boys should get flowers too, and Ichigo sends her a picture of them in a vase beside the cash register at the bookstore which proves it true.

Ichigo, in return, sends her an adult coloring book and some pencils because her brain feels like it's leaking out of her ears thanks to all her essays and reports, and she needs the distraction.

There's a Chappy Rukia picks out for him, for "when he misses her" and he sends her daily pictures of him with Chappy around the apartment in lieu of selfies because he hates taking them, and at least with a Chappy to pose, it isn't so much of a trial for him to bear.

They message and call every day, and though that doesn't make up for the physical distance, something settles, Rukia feels it thrumming between them – steady like a heartbeat.

"I think I'm right," Nanao says seated across from Rukia at their usual breakfast spot, two weeks later.

"You're always right," Rukia dutifully reminds. Then, "What are you right about this time though?"

"You and Ichigo."

"Bonding, yes we know," Tatsuki groans dramatically to Rangiku's snickers, and Rukia's continuous embarrassment, though she manages to fake unconcern, and roll her eyes. "What about it?"

"It's just a theory," Nanao says, perpetually unruffled. "But I think you two have already mated."

That startles Rukia through the sheer impossibility of it. Getting mated was more significant than marriage was. People could get divorced, but mating was – it was forging a connection built on instinct – to separate was the equivalent of digging out an implant with a knife.

Sure, not everyone could be true mates, like Ichigo's parents were, but.

Mating was as close to it as it could get. It's what Byakuya-niisama had with Renji, signified by a bonding ceremony rather than a wedding. Rukia thinks, with the perspective of the conversation with her mother, that it was why she'd been against it.

Of course, mating was also entirely without the pomp of either bonding ceremony or wedding.

A mating was…intimate. It claimed without need for anyone else's presence or bureaucracy. It was a union, a binding for just the people involved.

"Could people mate without knowing it?" Rangiku wonders.

"I've never heard of it in real life, but it's theoretically possible," Nanao says. "And considering Ichigo's parents were true mates, of all things, and he's one of two alphas from alpha-parents, I'm inclined to believe he's all about being a biological anomaly."

"Alright, but the only way to really know is based on scent, and Rukia's hasn't changed even with the fact that they've spent her heat together; they're still kind of separate?" Tatsuki says. A moment later, she squints. "Though, now that you mention it…"

Taking Tatsuki's word for it with her superior sniffer, Rangiku too turns to Rukia in looks of varying degrees of accusation, but Rukia raises her hands in defense. "If we did mate – which I'm not saying we did – it was not intentional. We haven't so much as knotted since his rut, let alone traded mating bites."

"You don't need mating bites to mate, though it does finish the process," Nanao reminds. "Your heat's changed, and you're showing signs of your heat starting again, probably with the hope that this time you'll get a knot and a belly of spent. It's the most common sign that, biologically, you found someone willing to care for you and your future spawns."

Rukia groans. "You just had to mention babies -"

"That's what mating is biologically for!" Nanao reminds. "Your instincts choosing someone to protect you and keep the line alive."

"Aww, we're gonna be aunties!" Rangiku cheers, jabbing at Tatsuki with her elbow.

"Well, I can't be going through heat again," Rukia argues, "I literally just had it two weeks ago!"

"You are crabby," Tatsuki points out.

"And you may not want hugs, but I'm starting to think it's just _our_ hugs you don't want," Rangiku says, and though she's pouting, she has a twinkle in her eye that says it wasn't like she didn't expect it.

And with that evidence, Nanao raises her brows in challenge.

Rukia flails. "Well – now what?"

"Well," Nanao says, "you took high school biology. You're going to get a heat every month until it takes and you're pregnant. Fortunately, the trade-off with frequency is duration, it'll last a couple of hours rather than a few days, but it'll be intense. As long as you two use protection, you'll be fine, but there's no getting around it. You'll definitely want a knot, knowing your mate has one."

At that Rukia groans, "Awesome. Just. Awesome." Then, "Where does that leave us? Should I tell him…does he know?"

"Doubtful," Tatsuki snorts. "Ichigo's smart but he's also an idiot. I bet he had no idea that he's been sending courting gifts to you the past two weeks since you've been apart."

Rukia deadpans, "He's been doing what."

"You're the smartest dumb person I've ever met," Rangiku muses.

Later, back at the apartment, Tatsuki announces, as she's come to do since she'd accepted the role as Ichigo and Rukia's courier, "I got you a present."

Rangiku pouts. "What about me?" In reply, Tatsuki scent marks her a little roughly, ruining her hair and making Rangiku squeal and squirm, practically climbing over the couch to escape. "Ah, bad alpha – bad alpha!"

Snorting, Rukia just barely pays attention in time to get a face full of a shirt, produced from Tatsuki's bag once she's annoyed Rangiku enough to cry uncle.

"Oh god, is he trying to get you to do his laundry?" Rangiku asks making a face.

Even though the shirt is clearly clean, Ichigo's also…done something to it. Kind of like he'd scent marked all over it.

Rukia sighs happily even as Rangiku makes a fake gagging noise before breaking out in giggles, to Tatsuki's scolding, "Hush, it's romantic. Hasn't Gin given you his clothes to wear when you're apart?"

"I guess," she allows, "but you know my sense of smell isn't as strong as you or Rukia's. Though," Rangiku pauses, "that does explain why he gets a little…growly, when I do wear it."

"That means he likes it."

Rangiku leers. " _Oh…"_

Tatsuki rolls her eyes, her turn to pretend to gag, and gets treated with a shove that then breaks down into a play fight that Tatsuki is absolutely not taking seriously. Rukia ignores them, absentmindedly thanking Tatsuki and disappearing into her room, already shedding her own shirt to replace it with Ichigo's.

It's hilariously too big for her, a dress that stops mid-thigh with the collar drooping low on her chest.

But it's his, and it smells good. Comforting. Rukia feels a part of herself settle even deeper, nuzzling with a thankful sigh.

She finishes three essays and makes major headway on studying for a test when, just before Tatsuki leaves for the gym where she'll see Ichigo, Rukia grabs her shirt from earlier, and leaves her room to toss it at her alpha housemate. "Could you?"

Rolling her eyes fondly, she tells Rukia, "You guys are ridiculous."

"We love you," Rukia teases and gets flipped off for her trouble.

Since Nanao had arrived with takeout for dinner later than expected and Rangiku was annoyingly territorial for a beta, Rukia and Nanao are relegated to the living room center table; their notes as well as their respective laptops scattered on the table and the floor they've claimed for themselves since Rangiku had already moved all her things to the dining table.

Tatsuki is breathing funny again once she gets home, her expression triumphed.

"Did you leave any of the other kids alive?" Rukia teases.

"Oh, this is all your boyfriend's doing," Tatsuki answers, and it's dumb to feel like her stomach's flipped over, but.

Opening the fridge to drain a water bottle down, Tatsuki informs, "He got me this time though, even without a rut to keep him going – you did a number on him." Collapsing on the couch behind her, she continues, "It might be because thanks to your fantastic throw with the shirt, he was of the mistaken opinion that I was cuddling with you recently and was trying to rile him up."

Rukia freezes, but Tatsuki just laughs. "He gets so bitchy sometimes, but he was a lot more fun than usual to fight with so maybe I _should_ cuddle you before going to the gym?"

Rangiku sends Rukia a long-suffering eye-roll that conveys _alphas_ which makes Rukia shake her head, reluctantly amused.

"I hope you don't expect me to wear your shirt," Ichigo says on their call that night.

"But I'm wearing yours," Rukia complains, and there's a noticeable, physical pause. Her brow furrows. "Ichigo?"

He clears his throat. "Uh, I don't know what I expected." Then, there's a pause, the sounds of movement and the rustle of fabric before, with horrified fascination, he declares, "It's a crop top."

She laughs. "What?"

"Your shirt."

"You…are wearing my shirt," Rukia tries to understand, already giggling. "How did you even fit -"

"Not actually as hard as I thought," he admits, and she shouldn't be able to hear the way he's blushing but somehow she can.

"No way! Lemme see!"

He sighs, and complies because one other thing she's learned about Ichigo is that he really would do anything she asked, no matter how ridiculous.

When her phone notifies her of a new message – the picture, Ichigo's sent – Rukia doesn't know what to think.

He'd taken a selfie aimed below his chin: his arms look huge in the shot, and her shirt on him is tight enough that she can make out the peaks of his nipples. Ichigo hadn't been kidding about it being a crop top on him, the hem of her shirt ends half-way down his abdomen; showing off the flat planes, the sharp jut of his hips pointing like an arrow towards the tempting treasure trail disappearing into his joggers, and the not inconsiderable bulge between his slightly spread thighs, and the hand that's half flexed like it wants to grip and tug and –

"Oh, you did that on purpose," she breathes out the accusation.

"You started it," is his retort, and the low curl of his words send a fission of heat unraveling in her belly.

"I just told you I was wearing your shirt," she reminds, trying to sound innocent even as she parts her own legs a little in pantomime to his in the picture, lifting them a little.

Ichigo snorts like _that's the point_ , but still he demands, "Let me see."

She swallows and has to take the photo at least four times because her hand shakes and she almost drops her phone.

She'd decided against taking a similar shot to his – if only because she's a little nervous about the thought of phone sex, if that's even where it's leading to – and sends the most decent shot she has, quickly, before she chickens out.

Ichigo's quiet over the line for a moment, and when her phone makes another sound of an incoming notification, she finds his reply _, you're adorable, I could just eat you out. I mean up. No, I don't._

Her laugh is absurd and bashful. "Smooth," she says to his laughter which has definitely dropped an octave that has her spine tingling.

Rukia worries her lip, decides fuck it, and says, "I know we said no sex..."

"Did we?" he drawls.

"It's kind of implied with the whole not-in-physical-distance thing," she teases, her cheeks hot. Then, "Have you ever…?"

"No," Ichigo replies, "but just hearing your voice is kind of doing it for me."

"Oh," she says, feeling lightheaded, her toes curling. "Your voice is kind…doing it for me."

He hums, and Rukia thinks he's smiling.

She wonders what they're supposed to do now, she's not sure how this is supposed to work. With just each other's breaths through the phone, the shot of arousal diffusing into a hum, Ichigo muses, "I haven't taken you on a proper date. The ramen doesn't count."

"Of course not," Rukia replies, "I took you on that date."

"Is that how we're gonna play it?" he prods with a chuckle. "Okay. Fair, fair. How about somewhere fancy, somewhere you're used to?"

"Just because those alphas took me to those places doesn't mean I'd choose them on my own," Rukia reminds patient and curious about where he was going with this, and then, because Ichigo wouldn't make her wait long to find out, he tells her, "No, but I bet you looked beautiful – twinkle of a chandelier catching your eyes, the moonlight on your skin..."

Finding herself feeling fluttery and shy that Ichigo had thought of her in contexts beyond the sexual, she asks softly, "You've thought about this?"

"Since you found me in the bookstore," he says. "You looked like a dream under that skylight."

Rukia blushes at the thought of it, saying, "I remember it differently."

"Oh?"

"The colors streaming down your naked shoulders, how it sliced across your cheek and painted your mouth with every noise you made," she says, biting her lip at the thought of it, her hips moving in a little aborted thrust at nothing.

She doesn't even remember the alpha she'd gone on a date with that day, that had all but chased Rukia into the bookshop with a glass of wine.

She thinks she should send him a fruit basket, whoever he is.

He'd led her to Ichigo, after all.

Ichigo hums like he's in agreement, his breath hitching a little. Rukia licks her lips, and thinks aloud, "Is that what you think of when you think of me, when you're alone?" It's quiet on the line, but it makes every small noise he makes all the louder.

"Do you think of my legs, and how they were wrapped around you? How my shoes were still on, the heel digging into your thighs; the way your hands spread my legs to make room for you?" she wonders, her hands already drifting to slide beneath her underwear. "Because all I can think about is the way your throat worked, how fucking perfect your hips felt slamming into mine, how your hair fell over your eyes…" She's wet and warm beneath her fingertips, her quiet gasp making his breath quicken.

Just barely, she can make out the sound of his hand, slick and rough on himself. Rukia groans.

"I want – my fingers aren't as thick as yours," she complains in a tone that so clearly rings of _you jerk_ , if she wasn't panting.

His exhale sounds like a laugh, but beneath it she can hear the purr, can practically smell the way his scent goes heady and how the taste of his mouth goes sweet.

"Are you…thinking of me in this shirt? Like when we spent my heat together?" It's not the same, she wants to say, I don't feel the same as I am when I'm with you rather than without.

"Your marks on me are all healed up," she continues, "do you think of them? How long you sucked them on me, how deep you dug your teeth?" Her voice hitches, her words hiccupping; the sounds of her wet thrusts and the tremors they elicit making her toes curl. "Do you think of how you could've bonded me if you pressed a little deeper, sucked a little harder?"

Her name is curse and benediction in one.

Breathing coming fast, vision starting to close in around her, Rukia murmurs, "What do you think of Ichigo?"

"You," he says, his voice a dark whisper, "I always think of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL CHAPTER TOMORROW! Ekkk!


	25. Chapter 25

To literally no one's surprise, once deadlines have been hit and all school work caught up on a few days later, Rukia's confirmed her plans to meet up with Ichigo:

"I can take you to dinner."

"Now we both know we won't get through that," Rukia snickers, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she throws some clothes into a bag, making sure her towel is still in place from her shower.

She's not a hundred percent sure she'll start her heat, but if it does happen, she wants to be prepared. It's something she's been working up to telling him, but couldn't find the words. Rukia doubted a bombshell like "I think we mated a little" was going to go well over text message anyway.

Nonetheless, whether or not her heat _does_ start, Rukia doesn't think she'll be coming home this weekend.

"Grab a pizza," she instructs over his own snort of laughter, "I'll be there at yours in a few."

"Get your own condoms," Rangiku declares as Rukia leaves her room, bag in hand. "I'm serious: _get them_." With a gesture between herself and Tatsuki, Rangiku says, "Neither of us are financially prepared to spoil our godchild."

"Who says I'll make either of you godmothers," Rukia retorts, "you'll fight Renji and my brother for the honor."

"It's called female solidarity," Tatsuki protests, then, turns her nose up with a sniff, "Whatever, I'm definitely Ichigo's pick."

"He does have two sisters of his own, you know," Rukia reminds, even though she really shouldn't be tempting fate by entertaining this nonsense. She's already bought condoms for the occasion; Rukia didn't get through most of her degree to end up not using it.

"Yeah but…shut up, I'm his best friend, I should get first child privileges. They had to deal with him because they were related, _I_ had no such requirements."

"That just means you aren't as smart as you think you are," Rangiku says only to make another noise of protest when Tatsuki tries to scent mark her vindictively. "Stop it, I'm seeing Gin tonight!"

"Then I guess he gets to enjoy eu du Arisawa," the alpha deadpans.

Rukia rolls her eyes fondly at the pair of them, and waves them off. "I'll be safe, no babies for us. I'll see you guys on Monday."

"Oi, wait!" Tatsuki calls, untangling herself from her play fight with Rangiku and stumbling to catch up with Rukia. "I need to talk to you about something."

"What?"

"Inoue."

Rangiku groans.

Tatsuki ignores her, and adamantly tells Rukia, "She still needs to get some of her things from the apartment so she'll be by tomorrow morning. You should lock your room." At Rukia's look of confusion, Tatsuki shakes her head. "If she's willing to look through Yuzu's old file at the omega dormitories, who knows what she'll do in your room."

"Look for Ichigo's shirt that you've been religiously wearing? Sneak away with your sheets where Ichigo lay? Steal your whole goddamn mattress on the off chance she could feel the phantom touch of his body heat? Who knows? Girl's a little unhinged," is Rangiku's dramatic musing, and it should say something about Tatsuki and her state of mind around the Inoue topic that she makes a _sounds about right_ expression.

"I'm just saying, it's better to be safe than sorry," Tatsuki says.

Though, Rangiku raises a hand to say, "And if she pulls any kind of shit while she's here she _will_ be sorry."

"You're gonna be here tomorrow morning?" Rukia asks surprised, "I thought you were seeing Gin tonight?"

"I am, he's staying over. And Nanao's coming by with breakfast from the usual spot so she can supervise," Rangiku says, adding with an eye roll, "Something about avoiding an Incident if there's an altercation. Apparently, it wouldn't look good if there were two alphas and a beta versus an omega."

"It wouldn't, and she's right," Rukia says, to their dutiful chorus of, "She's always right." Then, with a furrowed brow, Rukia asks, "Did Inoue arrange to fetch her things tomorrow because she knows I might not be at home?"

Tatsuki opens and closes her mouth, and Rangiku breathes, "That bitch."

"Well," Tatsuki huffs, "if she thinks she'll get away with anything of yours while you aren't here, she has another thing coming."

"Wait, what about Ichigo?" Rangiku asks.

Rukia blinks. "What about him?"

"Well, she knows where he lives, right? What if she's gone to see him before you do?"

"We might be giving her too much credit," Rukia says uncertainly, then with a glance between the three of them, they unanimously decide they're going to drop Rukia off at Ichigo's. Just to be sure.

Rukia thinks it's a little unnecessary, but apparently Tatsuki and Rangiku had been right.

As they get into the elevator, they stop the doors just in time for Yuzu and a dark-haired beta to join them, both dressed in the health center uniform. "Tatsuki-chan!"

"Yuzu, Karin," Tatsuki greets in turn, her smile a little strained. "What are you two doing here?"

"Ichi-nii called us," the dark-haired one, Karin, says with a familiar-looking frown, at the same moment that Yuzu notices Rukia and she's grinning, "Rukia-chan, it's great to see you again!"

"Ah, you too," Rukia replies, managing to forgo her awkwardness with genuine surprise.

"Oh, this is my younger sister," Yuzu says, gesturing at Karin. "We were hoping we'd get to see you before you and Ichi-nii's weekend, or at least after –"

Rangiku giggles at the implication there while Rukia just blushes, waving her hands. "Ah, it's alright. So, you were saying? You're here for Ichigo? Is he okay?"

"Oh, he's fine," Karin replies, shaking her head. "It's Inoue that isn't."

Apologetic, Yuzu explains, "She found out where Ichi-nii lives, and she's been at his apartment for the past ten minutes and won't leave. The apartment building's security is on stand-by, but we're going in first to see if we can talk her away."

"And into therapy, I hope," Tatsuki mutters, and at Rukia's look, she says, "What? I'm not disparaging it. Therapy's great. It's how I'm getting over her. Though, I have to say, this whole situation is doing _wonders_ for me."

Rangiku jabs her elbow in Tatsuki's side but she just barely muffles her own snicker.

The elevator doors open, and they move as one towards Ichigo's unit, catching the tail end of Inoue's plea, "– she isn't a good omega, Kurosaki-kun. She's the absolute wrong kind for you! You can still change your mind – you can still choose –"

But Ichigo's unmoved, unimpressed. "You say that you're a good omega like it matters." Inoue stiffens. And with brutal, polite efficiency, he reminds, "Look where being a _good_ omega got you. You've hurt and taken advantage of people who cared about you, and for what?"

"For you – for you, Kurosaki-kun!"

"I wish you'd stop saying that," he exhales, a shadow over his brow as his lip curls. "I didn't ask you to do any of those things. You can't make me responsible for your actions when you made them entirely independent of me. You choose to behave the way you do, and your consequences are yours. I have no part in it, you just used me as an excuse."

He steps back into the threshold of his apartment to her whimper, "Kurosaki-kun!"

Ichigo sighs. "You deserve to love someone who loves you, and that someone isn't me."

Tatsuki sighs, something like relief while Inoue gasps, struggling for something to grasp and keep Ichigo's attention, "You can…you can learn to! I – I'm easy to love, Kurosaki-kun, I promise. Kuchiki-san is -"

"Right here," Rukia interjects flatly. Inoue's mouth snaps shut, and whether it's because Rukia's made herself known, or that she's not alone that gets Inoue's eyes to widen and her skin to pale, Rukia doesn't know. Nor does she care. With narrowed eyes, Rukia says, "Go on, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just figured that this time you should know I'm listening."

Audibly, Inoue swallows, then, "Tatsuki-chan…Yuzu-chan?"

Behind her, Karin just barely conceals her scoff of disbelief, but Yuzu is better at hiding her displeasure behind a placid smile. "Inoue-san, let's go, huh?"

Inoue shakes her head. "Yuzu-chan – Kurosaki-kun…"

"Leave," Ichigo orders quietly, putting just enough of an alpha growl into his voice to get her to whimper and recoil. "I don't want to spend my rut with you, and I never will."

"B-but," Inoue stutters, "It's – I'm starting my heat too and – and it's fate, don't you see? We-we presented on the same day, Kurosaki-kun! I just…I knew you weren't ready for an omega so my heat didn't start until last year and -"

"You're starting your rut?" Rukia interrupts Inoue's tirade to ask, tilting her head to take a lungful of Christmas in his scent.

He has the audacity to blush, reaching to grasp at the back of his neck. "I was going to tell you later but -"

"We're true mates, Kurosaki-kun!" Inoue interjects, and fortunately, with the momentary distraction, Yuzu and Karin have Inoue in their arms, and are pulling her gently away from Ichigo's door.

"C'mon, Inoue-san," Yuzu coaxes gently. "Let's go."

"How did she even know you were going into rut?" Tatsuki asks, and Rangiku's expression is equally horrified as she asks as a follow-up, "Do you guys smell _that_ strong?"

"N-no, Yuzu-chan, didn't you hear?" Inoue sobs, "Didn't you – didn't you hear what I said? I…I scented him when we presented, and I knew-I knew! I remember what he smells like, I always will! And-and I scented him in the quad today, and my heat is starting and I just – I thought he'd want to be with his true mate!"

The look she sends to Rukia, tear-stained and red-tinged, is venomous. But this time, Rukia isn't deterred. Ichigo isn't either.

"We aren't true mates," he says, his frustration making his breath flutter. "True mates don't just _exist_ , they aren't found; they're made. And I know – I know you aren't mine."

"How?" Inoue all but cries.

Ichigo ignores her then, gaze firmly on Rukia, cheeks darkening beneath a flush that brightens his eyes as he replies quietly, "Because she is."

And Rukia's blush is…incendiary.

"Oh," Tatsuki breathes, "we are _definitely_ getting out of here." Then, with Rangiku's elbow in hand, the alpha turns them both around to charge after Yuzu and Karin, dragging Inoue away, and shouting, "Wait for us!"

With the distant sounds of their procession getting into the elevator, Ichigo reaches down to kiss her – a _hello_ , and _I'm sorry,_ and an _I'm glad you're here_ all in one. It helps with Rukia's blush exactly _zero percent._

"Hi."

Negative. We're in the negatives, Rukia despairs, whispering back shyly, "Hi."

From the end of the hallway, Rangiku shouts back, "Hello!" To everyone else's laughter and Rukia and Ichigo's shared embarrassment.

Nonetheless, he ushers her inside, pausing just long enough to flip their friends and his sisters off before the elevator doors close, only to have Rukia push him against the door and seal their lips together – more a claim than a kiss.

"Is it true?"

"I didn't…I didn't mean to," he says which isn't the same as him lying about it, Rukia wants to point out but is distracted by the way he's sucking on her tongue, the way his hands are sculpting themselves up and down her body; slow and searching like he's relearning every inch with taste and touch.

"You aren't ready, I know you told me," he murmurs, between one haggard breath and one long kiss, "I didn't just…ignore what you said. I don't-I don't expect you to say it back -"

"I want to," she interjects, nipping at his lips, and pulling away just long enough to get the words out, "because I do."

His exhale comes in a sweet, warm rush; his scent – _his scent –_ makes her mouth water. "You…do?"

"I do," she murmurs, and he grips her hips and spins her until she's the one against the wall, a surprised gasp ricocheting from her tongue onto his as she makes contact with the door. She tugs the strings of his joggers loose and feels him fill and swell against her hand, he groans, thrusting into her palm and making the door rattle; Rukia hums, "This feels familiar…"

His chuckle is wicked as his hands slide down her bare thighs, rolling her underwear against her hip because she'd gone with a summer dress instead of a pair of jeans this time around, having hoped for a situation just like this.

Ichigo's smirk is fierce. "I like this better."

"I knew you would," she says with a cheeky grin until it melts on a moan as he tugs her underwear down, sliding his fingers in its place with a sigh.

The digits are dewy hot in seconds, his answering groan rapturous as he presses in, alternating from gentle to rough just to hear the hitch of her breath, catch the roll of her eyes beneath her lids.

Impatiently, she pushes down at the waistband of his joggers, but just before she's able to get them off his ass, he pulls out a foil pack from the pocket and sticks it between his teeth as he lifts her, her legs hugging his waist.

Rukia has thought about this moment so many times since the first time it happened to right now, and right now is infinitely better.

While he pauses just long enough to slide the rubber on, he doesn't sheath himself immediately. Instead, he nudges the head of his cock through her curls then between her lips, teasing firm pressure and scalding heat at the core of her until she's panting for him to _fuck, just fuck me, Ichigo – god, please – I need you – please, please –_

"What if," he breathes hotly against the shell of her ear, "I want to hold you on the edge…just like this?"

She digs her nails into his biceps viciously and hisses, too strung out to utter any threats until he slides home in one smooth motion.

Though Rukia had asked for him to – _begged him to –_ she's still surprised about how full she feels of him; how at this proximity his every breath quivers from her chest to her lips; how his muscles tremble beneath her fingertips, between her legs, against her abdomen; how every flutter of his lashes moves in time to hers. When he moves, her body arches in turn; when she gasps and whimpers, his groans and purring murmurs answer; and when she comes with his hand framing where they're connected, caressing and touching as he works himself inside her, he follows after with a shudder and a whine.

For a moment, they simply breathe before Ichigo makes a choked off sound and hastily tries to pull out.

Rukia digs her fingers into his shoulders, shaking her head minutely, "Don't – Don't -"

He hisses through his teeth, "Rukia, I'm gonna -"

" _Yes._ I know, I know; I want you to. It's okay, I want you to," she babbles, even though the first yes was enough, and her mouth opens in a soundless gasp as she feels his knot inflate his dick from the head, every nerve-ending and cell vibrating with shock at the intrusion until they're softening around him in a velvet embrace.

Ichigo muffles a whimper against her shoulder, the hint of teeth there making her bite her lip as her inner walls squeeze around him.

"Fuck, we're gonna have to – fuck," he mumbles, and sympathetically, she runs a hand through his hair from the nape, and flits a kiss against his cheek in apology.

Rukia doesn't envy the fact that Ichigo has to move them from against the front door, though they equally lament that it wasn't exactly the best place to be knotted together.

"It's better than the kitchen counter," she tries to placate.

"Is it though?" he drawls with a grunt.

They put his muscles to use as he totes Rukia down the hall and onto the bed, his relieved sigh emptying his lungs as she settles against his chest.

As they lay on the bed, catching their breaths and waiting for his knot to deflate, Ichigo runs his hands down her back to unzip her dress, rolling the sleeves of her dress down her shoulders and peppering a kiss there, and there and there. Making her sigh. Making her melt.

His satisfied purr in reply makes her smile.

"We're true mates," she murmurs, pressing a kiss against his pec. "Huh…" Then, peering up at him, she asks, "Did you know, this whole time?"

"I suspected," he admits. "No one's ever…smelled like you to me before."

Her brows furrow in curiosity. "What do I smell like to you?"

Running his knuckles up and down the apple of her cheek, Ichigo's smile is soft. "Like freshly fallen snow, brisk winter winds and pinecones. Like Christmas." Rukia hums, hiding her smile against his skin. He continues unabashed, voice quiet, "I didn't know for sure until today, not until I could scent your heat on you the same time I could feel my rut coming on." Ichigo squeezes her in his arms. "I hoped though."

Pillowing her chin atop his chest, her lips quirk in a smile. "Because you love me."

"Because I love you," he parrots obediently, his answering smirk lazy.

"You aren't going to ask me to say it back?" she teases lightly, adjusting herself until she's close enough to reach his mouth. His knot pulls at them both, and when their lips touch they both shiver.

Though his gaze darkens a smidge, he replies steadily enough, "No, not until you're ready to."

Backing away to put less pressure on the knot between them, Rukia teases, "Even if it's a year from now?"

Shoulders rolling in a shrug, he says, "That just means you see us together a year from now." Like it would even be an option because _they're true mates,_ why would she ever try to find anyone else?

"Even if it's ten years from now?" she continues to prod, and indulgently, he agrees to that too; the darkening flush beneath his skin slipping down his neck to fill his chest, Rukia discovers as she readjusts herself.

He steadies her and gets himself into a sitting position as she situates herself on his lap, straddling him. Momentarily, she's distracted by the movement of his abdomen, but manages to get back on track with a quirk of her brow as she asks casually, "How about right now?"

He's already nodding and then, "Ye – _what_?"

With the distance between them lessened, there's no strain to kiss him, to murmur against his mouth, "I love you too, Ichigo."

When they pull away, just far enough for her to see the radiance of Ichigo's smile like the dawn breaking over the horizon, it's precious and lovely, and Rukia intends to see it as often as possible.

For now, with an impish grin, she pushes him gently back against the mattress, and lifts the hem of her dress up and off.

His expression then is just as priceless; a little dazed and almost begrudgingly turned on, a sight she intends to see as often as possible.

"What are you -"

With a tut and a salacious grin, Rukia teases, "What, did you think I was going to let you get away with that little stunt you pulled against the door? Oh, _Kurosaki_ , you really have messed with the wrong omega."

"The right one," he corrects, serious as ever. Like he knows that the little voice that sounds like Inoue is in the background in Rukia's head. Like he knows he needs to silence it. "The only one I want."

Her smile is soft, there and gone. But she hums, rolls her hips up before sliding slowly back down. The noise he makes is _beautiful_. Surrender. Absolution. "Just for that," she purrs, "you can come once."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this off-the-rails, incredibly unscripted delve into ABO with me, I've appreciated your kind words so much during this experiment. If there are any common questions about the fic - it's ending, the world-building, the fates of certain characters,etc - I'll be answering them on my tumblr in an a "spoilers" post.


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